


We're All Just Born to Descend

by corruptedkid



Series: descend!verse [1]
Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), Hesitant Alien - Gerard Way (Album), My Chemical Romance, The Youngblood Chronicles (Music Video)
Genre: Angst, Better Living Industries, Brainwashing, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Slow Build, Temporary Amnesia, Temporary Character Death, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-08-22 16:59:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 111,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8293238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corruptedkid/pseuds/corruptedkid
Summary: Better Living didn't keep Party Poison alive as a kindness."Rehabilitation," they called it. Slowly eating away at his identity, removing all the pieces they didn't like, then filling in the gaps until he was a normal, healthy citizen. But while they could silence his mind, there would always be music in his heart. There would always be a spirit that couldn't be crushed by pills or empty words. Even if Poison wasn't Poison anymore, he couldn't stop fighting if he tried.





	1. Just Keep It Together Somehow

The scarecrow’s hands locked around Poison’s skull and wrenched it upwards, forcing him to watch as another grabbed the Girl by her hair and dragged her away. She kicked and screamed, biting at its gloved hands and driving her feet into the ground. With every inch she was pulled backwards, Poison felt the knife in his chest twist a little deeper. He pulled against the operatives holding him back with all his might, but their grip only tightened.

A draculoid pulled out a gun and aimed it at the Girl. Poison struggled harder. That was no ray gun. It was a tranquilizer-- the dracs might have grown tired of her thrashing, but they still wanted her alive. _Alive,_ not dead. Why?

In the background, Jet Star fought on, his ray gun emitting a burst of light for each draculoid that dared come near him. Kobra had his back. Poison wasn’t sure if they’d even noticed his predicament yet, they were so busy defending themselves. But it wasn’t enough. They had to get away before they were captured like he had been. They moved in tandem, holding their own for as long as they could, buying themselves precious seconds until they were--

 _Dead,_ not alive.

Ghoul was the only one left. Poison wanted to scream at him to run, to run for the Girl or to save himself, he didn’t know which, but he had to move before Poison lost the only person he had left. 

They beat him to the floor and held him in a chokehold until he went limp. The dusty ground ran red with blood before he, too, was taken away.

The scream that ripped from Poison’s throat was animal, wild with pain and fury. The draculoids holding him back staggered with the force of his lunge forward. But no matter how hard he fought, they refused to let go. They only squeezed his hair tighter and forced him to watch, helpless, as Fun Ghoul and the Girl were tossed into a white BLi van like a pair of rag dolls. Jet and Kobra were left lying on the ground. The pool of blood surrounding them only grew larger, soaking into the sand, returning their spirits to the desert they called home.

Poison choked back a sob.

And all the while, Korse laughed, and laughed, and laughed. 

They picked Poison up and packed him into another van, taking his ray gun and slamming the doors behind him before he could fight back. He felt the van shift beneath him, and then they were driving away, maybe in the same direction Ghoul and the Girl had gone. It was enough to send a tiny flicker of hope shooting through his chest. 

He sat up straight for the rest of the journey, until a thick, fruity smell permeated the air, and he had just enough time to recognize the scent of gas before he was knocked unconscious. 

***

Poison woke up in a tiny white room. It couldn’t have been more than eight feet across, and the ceiling was only a little higher. The first thing he noticed was the lack of color. It only took a moment to make his skin crawl. Everything was white, all blank surfaces and stark lighting, with not even the faintest hue to offer respite from the _white._ He had to get his hands on paint as soon as possible, he decided. Dye, or ink, at least. He’d smear his own blood on the walls if that was what it came to.

The second thing he noticed was the bed he was laying on. It was as white as everything else, with a stiff mattress and a thin sheet. It was the first bed Poison had touched since… well, since before he was Party Poison. He swung his legs over the edge, intending to get up, but the small movement sent his head spinning. He squeezed his eyes shut and took deep breaths until the nausea subsided. 

Standing was out, then. Instead, he gave himself a once-over. Most of his knuckles were split, and he had a few burns here and there, but otherwise, he had escaped unscathed. He was sure that that would change.

BLi never kept people alive as a kindness.

There was a thick band of metal around his wrist with a string of letters and numbers. Identification, he supposed. It was colder than the rest of the room, a constant icy reminder that everything was not as it should be. He was in the city, not the desert, and the other killjoys were gone.

The fabulous killjoys… They had…They were… 

What had happened to them?

“Fuck,” Poison said out loud. 

Those slimy Better Living sons of bitches. 

BLi had done something. They had fucked with his head somehow. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how his head ached with effort, Poison couldn’t recall more than a few blurry snapshots from the fight that had torn him away from his family. He knew that he _should_ remember, but he just _couldn’t_. He realized with mounting horror that it wasn’t just the fight. He could barely remember _anything_. He had his friends: Fun Ghoul, Kobra Kid, Jet Star, and the Girl. He still remembered them, thank the Sand and Sun. But everything else had been wiped clean. 

No… not everything.

His memories of the city were intact. The memories he had buried deep after leaving for the desert, all the things he had made himself forget… They were all he had left.

A speaker clicked on in the corner of the room. “Good morning, Gerard,” a sweet female voice said. Poison stiffened. 

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

He knew that the woman on the other end of the speaker could hear him, but she didn’t respond. 

He hadn’t expected her to.

For the rest of the day, Poison was left alone. No sound from the speaker, no movement from the door. He was trapped within the silence. He actually found himself wishing for some BLi employee to come and start fucking with him-- at least it would give him something to do besides sit and stare and fail to grasp at elusive memories. 

What the hell had they done? 

***

It was a few days before things really started to go downhill. Not a single sound had penetrated the room since the speaker had wished him a good morning, and Poison was going stir-crazy. He had tried to sing, once, just to break the quiet, but the bracelet on his wrist had shocked him hard enough to leave him trembling.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from trying. He refused to shut his mouth until the electricity snatched his consciousness away.

But after a while, he simply didn’t have the energy to go on in such a way. Instead, he had taken to tapping out rhythms on the bedsheet beside him. As long as the beats were random, and never began to coalesce into a pattern, he was safe from further shocking. Part of him was proud of how he’d beat the system. Part of him was just tired.

Once movement no longer sent him into bouts of dizziness, he tried getting up and pacing the floor. He talked to himself, mumbling whatever came to mind. It was enough to temporarily keep him sane, but he knew that if something didn’t change soon, he would snap.

When the speaker clicked on, he nearly wept.

“Good morning, Gerard,” said the woman’s voice, no less cheery than before. “Please exit your room and turn right. You will find your first test at the end of the hall.”

Poison twitched at the use of his birth name, but his discomfort was smothered in an overwhelming sense of relief as the door swung open. He jumped up and ran for the hall. When he looked back and forth, both directions looked exactly the same, uniform in their white tile floors and cement walls. 

He knew he was being watched, through cameras and microphones and whatever else, but he didn’t care. There was no way in hell he’d follow instructions given by the company that had stolen his mind. They wanted him to turn right?

They must've known it wouldn't be that easy. 

He turned left and broke into a sprint, relishing the freedom to move. It didn’t last long, however. 

“Oh, dear, we can’t have that,” the woman’s voice said pleasantly. A shock vibrated through Poison’s bones, his knees immediately giving out. He collapsed to the ground. Whoever controlled his bracelet had figured out the voltage that would send him into fits of agony, but would keep him conscious all the way through. 

He raised his middle finger and was shocked again, this time enough to push him over the edge and into the blackness. 

It felt like only a moment passed before he woke up again. He was lying in his bed, his left arm stinging. He gave it a quick look, not expecting to see anything much, and startled at the line of stitches running from his wrist to his elbow. He stared at them for a moment before the panic set in, and then he was running his fingers along his skin, seeing new marks that hadn’t been there before, cuts and bruises and injuries that he most definitely hadn’t received while awake. The motion irritated the wounds, and before he knew it, thin lines of blood were rising up. 

The red was the first bit of color he had seen in what felt like forever. 

His heartbeat slowed to a calmer pace. This was good. How bad was it, really, if they only hurt him when he was asleep? They were giving him color, and it would make him strong. 

He ran a finger along his wrist, then touched it to the wall. A bloody fingerprint appeared against the white paint. 

They couldn’t take away his color. Not when it was running through his very veins. 

***

Even if they couldn’t stop him, they could definitely try.

After Poison’s little stunt with the blood, his captors stopped physically torturing him, even going so far as to remove all sharp edges from his room so he couldn’t do it himself. They set their sights on his mental state instead. He would wait in that fucking room, cramped and blank and quiet, until the speaker activated and bid him to exit. There didn’t seem to be a schedule for his release. He was kept waiting anxiously until the door opened, then he would run out and enjoy a brief moment of release before the electricity burned out all the lights in his head. 

He lost track of the days before they finally took him by force. 

The speaker didn’t give any warning-- a scarecrow busted into his room out of nowhere and grabbed his arm, dragging him out and down the hall to the “first test” he had been avoiding so doggedly. He was shoved into another room, a bigger one, thank the Sun, and stuffed into a chair. His wrists and legs were bound to it, and then he was alone again.

“Hello, Gerard,” said a speaker built into the ceiling. The woman always sounded saccharine, but today, she was downright smug.

“That’s not my fucking name,” he growled. “My name is Party Poison.”

“Oh, is it?” the woman purred. “I’m sure this test will be no trouble for you, then.”

The wall that Poison’s chair was facing suddenly lit up. A projector hummed, and a picture appeared. Poison’s hands clenched into fists.

“Don’t play games, Gerard,” the woman said. She was sweet as ever, but Poison knew a threat when he heard one. “I know you remember this. Tell me who that is, won’t you?”

The picture was a candid, probably taken by one of BLi’s many security cameras. It showed a boy walking down the street with his hands stuffed into the pockets of a hooded sweatshirt. The boy had short black hair, which, given a few years, would grow out into a greasy mess and acquire several different colors. Poison remembered him. Of fucking course he remembered. That boy had died years ago.

“I don’t remember,” said Poison.

He didn’t want to say it. They couldn’t make him.

The woman clicked her tongue in disappointment. “The more you lie, the more you will be punished. I’m sure you know this, but I’m not sure you understand how unpleasant your _punishment_ will be if you continue to disobey.”

He did know. He just didn’t care. They couldn’t possibly do anything worse than make him remember. They could make him stare at his own face for hours, but he would never claim it. He wouldn’t ever speak of the life he had abandoned. The desert was his home, even if he couldn’t remember any of his time there. 

“My name is Party Poison,” he repeated.

***

Gradually, a new routine was adopted. The timing was just as random as always, but Poison began to dread the opening of his door instead of looking forward to it. Not even the release from his cell made the “tests” worth it. Every day they showed him something from his past. A picture of who he used to be, symbols or artifacts or anything they thought might produce results. He even sat up one morning and was startled by how light his head felt, only to find that his signature crimson locks had been chopped short and bleached blond. _Blond._ Blond was so close to white, it made him physically sick to think about. 

Poison never let them see, but they were dangerously close to breaking him. 

He wasn’t sure how long he had been in captivity. It could have been days, weeks, or even months. He had a hard time following the passage of time, given how much of it he spent asleep. BLi must have had some goal by keeping him there, probably to get information out of him. But if that was the case, why would they take his memories? Wouldn’t they be considered the most valuable part of him?

He pondered this as he was escorted to the testing room and tied into his restraints. When he looked up, he startled-- for the first time, the room was not empty.

“Hello, Gerard.”

Poison instantly recognized the woman’s voice. It was a odd to put a face to it, but the face did suit her. She had neat black hair combed down to her chin and eyes that were such a deep brown they looked black. Her eyes didn’t _look_ so much as _pierce,_ and Poison knew what he would hear before she even spoke. 

This was the first time he’d ever seen her angry.

“We were always intending to punish you, Gerard. We thought we would do it after you finally broke down, to show you who you were up against, but you never did. You’ve escaped discipline for far too long. I think it’s time we changed that.” She pressed a button she held in her hand, and a new picture appeared on the wall. To Poison’s surprise, it was a picture of him-- not as a city-dweller, but as a killjoy, fiery red hair and all.

“Tell me who that is,” she ordered. 

“That’s me,” Poison said slowly. “Why are you showing me this?”

She smiled, but did not answer. She flipped through a new set of pictures, showing Kobra, Ghoul, Jet, and the Girl. “Who are they?”

“They’re my friends.” Poison frowned. “Stop it. What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just making sure,” she said cryptically. She stepped forward and ruffled Poison’s hair, ignoring how he jerked back. “It’s time for you to be punished. It will not be enjoyable, and it will not stop. If you agree to cooperate, it may lessen in the future… but for now, you must pay for your behavior.” She headed towards the door, so Poison could no longer see her. 

“You may call me the Director. It would be in your best interest if we never met again.”

The door clicked shut, and Poison was alone. He waited a few moments before releasing the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. When he inhaled again, he instantly coughed. The air was just a touch more acrid than usual, but he had learned from experience how to recognize the taste of gas. _”Fuck!”_

He had experienced knockout gas often, a fruity scent that coated his lungs and remained for hours after he woke up, but this was something different. This scent was new; more acidic, a chemical tang that burned as he breathed it in. He pulled against his restraints. New things were never good in this place. 

The pictures the Director had shown him were still switching at regular intervals. Kobra, then the Girl, then Jet Star. Poison’s head was spinning at a million miles an hour. It felt like someone was squeezing his skull, the pressure slowly building up until suddenly,

he _remembered._

_They came for Poison first. He was always more focused on defending the others than himself; it was his greatest weakness, and BLi knew it. He caught a zap to the ribs and fell, but as he scrambled back up, a drac seized him by the arm. More flocked around him until he was surrounded. Party Poison was supposed to be such a great fucking leader, but it was his own stupidity that made him the first to be caught, forced to watch the events he couldn’t stop._

_The Girl’s last scream hung on the air as she went limp. Her head lolled back, offering no resistance against the dracs bearing her away._

_”Help her!” Ghoul was screaming. “Fucking_ fuck, _god damnit, we’re--” He ducked below a shot, and his attention was stolen away._

_Kobra dodged a blast of energy and guided his fist into a scarecrow’s stomach. It dropped, and he kicked it in the head on its way down. A drac came up behind him, and his elbow smashed into its nose before he was shooting again, aiming for the ‘crows that rushed Jet Star._

_Ghoul slid to the floor and aimed from below, taking out dracs and then rolling to his feet, his small form weaving through the battle with ease. He was quick enough to dodge every shot, but it took concentration. A zap singed past his side and burned a hole through his vest. He looked around, trying to account for everyone. He operated similarly to Poison; he tended to focus on others, even if it meant putting himself in greater risk. But he wasn’t as stupid. He only acted like a hero if he knew he had the energy to spare. If he had only noticed the dracs holding Poison down, he would’ve been on them in an instant. But he hadn’t noticed. No one had. They were all in over their heads._

_Jet Star was in the center of the fray. Even as the battle raged around him, he looked unruffled, the calm amid the chaos. He shot down dracs methodically, with a steady pace and an aim that could only be rivaled by Poison. Kobra landed a flying kick beside him and they nodded to each other before shifting position. They took each other’s backs so they could fire in opposite directions. They were so fucking brave, it made Poison’s heart ache. They kept shooting even as they were slowly outnumbered._

_Poison couldn’t breathe. The dracs just kept coming._

_They just kept coming._

_They kept rushing in, and Jet and Kobra were shooting strong and then they_ weren’t, _and they fell and they bled and Poison was crying and they were gone. Ghosted, dusted on a whim._

 _Ghoul was fast, but he wasn’t fast enough. The second he laid eyes on Jet and Kobra, he was running for them, eyes burning with rage that no mortal body could contain. He defended their lifeless forms for an amount of time the average killjoy never could have managed. Even when his gun was knocked away, he kept fighting-- his fist whipped out to meet a scarecrow, and connected with a sickening_ crack _. He must have felled ten with his bare hands before they overtook him._

_But he wasn’t invincible. They knocked him to the ground in the end, and a pair of gloved hands locked around his throat. Ghoul’s eyes were wide with panic. When they finally landed on Poison, an anguished look overtook his face just before the drac squeezed him too tight, cutting off his air supply. His eyes stayed on Poison as they slipped shut._

 _Poison recognized defeat when he saw it. That was the moment Ghoul gave up, and it never would have happened if Poison hadn’t gotten himself fucking captured. If he had been quicker on his feet, then maybe they could have fought their way out. It would be hard without Jet and Kobra, but together, they could have made it._

_But he hadn’t been quick enough. He was captured, and that left Ghoul with a decision to make. Survive, and live alone, or die with his crew?_

_It wasn’t a decision, really. A lone killjoy was as good as dead anyway._

_Ghoul didn’t make a sound as they beat him. He just kept his eyes shut and took it, until his head was leaving a bloody trail on the ground as they hauled him off. They took him alive. God_ damnit _, Poison wished they had just killed him. His choice meant nothing if they didn’t kill him._

_How could Poison have forgotten this? How could they have erased this kind of pain?_

Poison woke up sobbing. There was a heavy weight pressing against his chest, a deep ache that he could never put to words. He knew that this was not a punishment he could bear the same way he had withstood the electric shocks. They could do whatever they wanted to him physically, but his mind was a fragile thing, and the small amount of strength it had kept was gone now. 

And of course it didn’t stop after the first time. They took the memory when he needed it and forced it upon him when it was more than he could take. He would forget, then re-live it all, then forget _again_. It was just another routine, another layer added to the torture he’d been enduring for what felt like years. He only knew that his punishments took the form of flashbacks because he found himself screaming his friends’ names when he awoke. As he lay shaking, he could only curse his blank mind and wonder what the hell had happened to them to make it hurt so badly. He didn’t know, and he couldn’t bring himself to guess.

But he did know that he couldn’t do this anymore.

***

“Can you tell me who that is?”

“It’s me,” Poison said. The question never changed, and neither did the answer.

“Very good,” said the Director. “What is your name?”

“Gerard.”

“Your full name, please.”

“Gerard Way.”

“Very, very good.” The Director put up a new image on the wall. “Who is that?”

“That’s…” Poison, no, Gerard squinted. “I…” The picture was like an itch in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t scratch. 

“They call him Kobra Kid,” the Director said cautiously. “Does that name ring any bells?”

Something in the name made Gerard’s chest constrict, but he still didn’t know who it was. It was something he _should_ have known. 

“No?” the Director persisted. Finally, Gerard shook his head. For some reason, that made her smile.

“Kobra Kid was a member of the terrorist group known as the Fabulous Killjoys. Before BLi disposed of them, they made regular attacks on Battery City, terrifying civilians and destroying the company’s work towards a Better Tomorrow.” The Director studied him closely. “What are your thoughts on that?”

“That sounds…” Gerard hesitated. “Familiar?”

The Director scribbled something down on her clipboard. Gerard didn’t remember her having a clipboard before.

“When did you get that?” he asked, pointing to it. She cocked her head.

“I’ve always brought this with me, Gerard.”

“But…” He frowned. “You didn’t have it before.”

She smiled dazzlingly. “What do you mean, ‘before?’ You only started visiting me a few days ago, and I’ve had this with me the whole time.”

“Oh,” he mumbled. “Why did I start visiting you, again?”

She clucked her tongue sympathetically. “Are you having more memory troubles? I’ll make sure your dosage is adjusted. You came to me because your brother, Mikey, was killed in a tragic accident. A killjoy attack, in fact. You needed help dealing with the trauma, so you sought me out, and I’ve been helping you ever since.”

“Oh.” That must have been why the word ‘killjoy’ sounded familiar to him. Everything was so fuzzy… His head was full of a thick fog that obscured the thoughts he needed to access, and the reasons why he needed access them. Everything was so _confusing._

The Director laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I think our time is up,” she said. “Would you like an escort to your room, or can you find your own way?”

“Um… I’ll take an escort, please.” Gerard sat up, his fingers brushing against the arms of the chair. He paused for a moment to glance at them. “Ms. Director, why are there ties here?”

“We sometimes hold interrogations in this room,” the Director shrugged. “We take dangerous individuals and rehabilitate them so they can be safely reintroduced into society. But don’t you worry about that, you’ll never run into any of them. You’re perfectly safe here.” She gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder before ushering him from the room.

He was led back to his own room, and the door was shut behind him. He collapsed onto the mattress with a sigh. The Director was nice, but sessions with her were just plain exhausting. His head always grew foggiest when she started hitting him with questions from out of the blue. There was this weird sensation, like there was something on the tip of his tongue that he just couldn’t think of… It only really went away when he returned to his room and swallowed his daily prescription. 

Speaking of which, he’d almost forgotten. Gerard reached under his bed to retrieve his pill box. He plucked out the day’s dosage and swallowed it dry, grimacing at the taste. BLi tried so hard to give people Better lives, couldn’t they make an effort to make their meds taste better?

He studied the box more closely. It had seven compartments within it, each corresponding to a day. The Director said he had been here for… how long? A few days? It felt like so much longer. But that was just his head, he knew. Once the drugs kicked in, he’d feel less out of place.

In addition to the pills, the Director had instructed him to work on a set of exercises every day. He would recite everything he knew to be true, then the things he was confused about. They often did the exercises together, so she could correct him if he got anything wrong. Sometimes she challenged him to do them on his own and report the results the next day. They hadn’t gotten around to it today, so Gerard supposed he should do them by himself. 

“These are the facts: my name is Gerard Way,” he said to himself. “My head is all messed up. The Director is helping me. I had a brother named Mikey who was killed. I need to recover so I can go home to Battery City.” 

He hesitated.

He had skipped over a section. When mentioning his brother, he was supposed to say that Mikey was murdered by killjoys, but his tongue had tripped right over that detail. It wasn’t a big deal, but at the same time, it was.

Something still felt odd about his brother’s death. Something about the way the Director described it… It just didn’t feel right. He was supposed to tell the truth and nothing but the truth when doing these recitations, and the words “murdered by killjoys” just didn’t feel true. Why didn’t they feel true?

“My brother was murdered by killjoys,” he said, surprising himself. He had never lied to the Director during these exercises. Why would he? And she wasn’t even in the room this time… Why would he lie if no one was _there?_

The meds must have been taking an unusually long time to kick in, because for some reason, Gerard had an unshakable feeling of foreboding. It told him to keep lying. It said to keep his doubts to himself, to just act normal, to do what was expected.

He shouldn’t listen. The Director always told him not to obey his gut feelings. They were _wrong._ BLi was the only source that could be trusted.

Her argument didn’t feel nearly as convincing as the pull in the back of Gerard’s mind.

***

“How have you been feeling?” the Director asked. She sat across from him, her elbows propped against the table so she could rest her chin in her hands. 

“I’m okay,” said Gerard, and it was only half a lie. With time, his doubts had shrunk into subtle whispers at the back of his mind. The claims made by the Director seemed less like claims and more like the truth. Mikey’s death was the reason he was here, the root of all his trauma. It shouldn’t have been surprising that the details felt wrong. 

“Good. Now, I know that for a while, our sessions have mostly been a question-and-answer type affair. That’s typical for this kind of situation, but I think it’s time we branched out a little. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Gerard nodded. The questions were the main reason therapy tired him out so much. “That sounds good. What are we going to do?”

The Director flipped a switch, and the projector hummed to life. For the first time Gerard could remember, it was a video that appeared, not a picture. It was a cartoon, showing some sort of animal passing out pills to its afflicted peers. 

“This is one of BLi’s old cartoons,” the Director said cheerfully. “Do you like it?”

“I thought we said we were branching away from questions?” Gerard quipped.

The Director laughed. “You’ve got me there. I guess meant to say that I won’t be asking such specific questions. I still want to know how you’re doing, of course, but I don’t need to be drilling you for details.”

Thank God. It made Gerard uncomfortable when she pressed him for information-- like she knew he was hiding something. 

“So, what do you think?” she prompted. 

He shrugged. “I dunno, it’s a cartoon. It’s kind of cute, I guess.”

“What about the subject matter?”

Gerard followed the bouncy movements of the characters on-screen. What was that, a mouse? Whatever it was, the other characters approached it with their ills, and it produced a cure from a BLi pill. “Ills” wasn’t really the right word, though. A fatter character was made thin, an old woman’s hunched back was straightened out…

Gerard shrugged again. “It’s a little superficial, but I guess it just goes to show how much BLi is capable of. What’s that one supposed to be?” He pointed to the mouse-looking character. 

The Director jotted something down on her clipboard. “His name is Mousekat.”

Gerard went still. It was only for a moment, and he didn’t think the Director noticed, but it was enough to make him groan internally. Just when he thought he’d escaped that nagging feeling, it popped right back. 

He knew he ought to tell her. Honesty was the most important part of treatment, and he might not ever recover if he wasn’t forthright about his progress.

“Gerard?” the Director asked. “Is something the matter?”

So she _had_ noticed. He teetered on the edge for a moment before giving in. 

“I feel like I should know that name, but I don’t know why,” he admitted.

The Director smiled patiently. “He was quite popular a few years ago. This is a good thing, Gerard! It most likely means that your childhood memories are stabilizing.”

He'd never had any problems with his childhood memories, had he? 

“I’m glad you told me,” she continued. “I want you to feel like you can tell me things.” Her pen hovered over her notes. “Is there anything else you’d like to say?” 

They made eye contact, and her gaze pierced straight through him.

“No, nothing,” he said without thinking. “Are we done for the day?” The lie had been so instinctive, he hadn’t had time to wonder why it felt necessary.

“Not quite. We still have our exercises,” she reminded him. “Why don’t you start?”

Gerard cleared his throat. “These are the facts: my name is Gerard Way. I have, uh… what was it you called it yesterday?”

“Trauma-induced mental instability. Your abilities to recall events and make connections were especially affected.”

“Right, that. It started when my brother, Mikey, was murdered by killjoys. You’re treating me so I can get better and go back home to Battery City.” Gerard was reasonably convinced of everything he was saying. 

“Is there anything you’re still confused about?” she asked.

Here was his chance to make up for the lie. 

“Why can’t I remember Mikey dying?” he asked. “Something about it doesn’t feel right. I should remember it.”

The Director reached across the table and placed her hand on his. “Gerard, it’s perfectly normal to forget something like that. Sometimes, things are just so painful, we have to let them go.” She smiled. “Even if it was the only thing you had, you just couldn’t live with something like that. Believe me, you’re much happier not remembering the details.”

“Oh,” he said, relieved. That made sense. Why had he ever doubted her? “Thank you, that helps a lot.”

“I’m always glad to be of service. Would you like to head back to your room now?”

Gerard smiled. “Actually… I think I can find my way back.” He stood and exited the room, the Director’s proud gaze following him like sunshine on his back. 

He located his room with no trouble, and shut himself inside as usual. When he turned towards his bed, he received a shock: there was a tablet sitting on it, with a note attached that dedicated it to him. The Director must have ordered it. If she had, that would mean she had either rewarded him for the day’s behavior in an extremely timely fashion, which wouldn’t be unlike her, or she thought he deserved it based on his recent progress. Maybe it was a combination of both. No matter the reason, he was grateful. He had been starting to get bored in his plain little room.

Gerard plopped down onto the bed, content to play with his new toy until a voice from his speaker advised him to rest.

***

“I take it you received my gift?” the Director asked, smiling. Gerard nodded. “You seemed to enjoy yourself. What were you reading all night?”

Gerard tilted his head to one side. “Uh, comics. I liked them a lot when I was a kid, and it’s been a while since I got the chance to read any… But how’d you know what I was doing?”

“We have cameras stationed in your room, of course. It’s standard procedure for any patients,” she explained. “For your own safety.”

“Oh.” That was… a little weird to think about, but Gerard found that he didn’t mind too much. It wasn’t like he had anything to hide.

But he did have something to hide, before. 

There had been one occasion in which he’d let his gut feelings get the best of him. For a second, he hadn’t wanted to accept the conditions of Mikey’s death as factual… but he had listed them as truth anyway. As if he knew someone was listening. But he couldn’t have. He’d had no idea about the cameras until now.

He covered his confusion with a grin. “Well, if it’s for my safety, right?”

An alarm was blaring in his head. While his instincts had been strong in the past, they were nothing compared to this feeling. Something was definitely wrong. 

“Sit down,” said the Director, motioning to Gerard’s usual seat. “I have another surprise for you.”

“Another?” he said, curious. He sat down. “What is it?”

She left him hanging for a minute before folding her hands and looking at him with pride. “You’ve been doing very well lately, Gerard. I really appreciate how hard you’re trying. Your clarity of thought has improved, correct?”

“Yes,” he said. His memory hadn’t actually gotten any better, but at the Director’s encouragement, he had stopped caring about it. Without the mental strain of searching for his memories, he could think much more clearly, and that was what mattered. The method wasn’t as important as the result. 

But he found himself wondering if he was making the right decision by doing so. The reason he had tried so hard to remember was because it felt so important. The Director would mention a certain word or phrase, and _bam_. A red flag would fly up in his head. Red flags were built to be noticed. Why should he ignore them?

Perhaps it wasn’t pride in the Director’s eyes. Funnily enough, it looked more like… triumph.

“You haven’t been having trouble connecting specific emotions or items to your past?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Yes, he had. Buried beneath layers of denial and medication were associations he just couldn’t shake. Mousekat, Kobra Kid, even the pills he swallowed every day, they had some sort of significance he couldn’t grasp. There had to be something he was missing. He was trying so hard to ignore it, and it had just started to work, but he couldn’t ignore it forever.

The Director smiled. “I didn’t think so. You see, I’ve been keeping careful track of your progress, Gerard, and I think you may be ready to leave Linda Vista.”

Gerard blinked. “Linda Vista?”

She laughed. “Have you forgotten the name of this place? Perhaps I should rethink my statement. What I was going to say, Gerard, is that you’re ready for reintroduction.”

Gerard’s eyes widened. “Wait, seriously?”

“Seriously,” the Director repeated. “You’d be monitored, of course, and we would have regular appointments, but they’d be different. We’d be more focused on your future than your past. BLi is willing to make every accommodation to help you adjust to normal life again. Whenever you’re ready, there is an apartment waiting for you in the city.”

“I… wow,” Gerard said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You think I’ll be okay on my own?”

“You won’t really be alone. BLi is always there.”

Ten minutes ago, Gerard would have found this sentiment comforting. Now, it was just unsettling.

“When can I leave?” he asked.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the Director said, amused. “Would you like to pack your things now?”

“Yes, please.” Gerard pushed his chair out and hurried back to his room without pushing it in behind him. He was _leaving_. The concept filled him with joy, the feeling running to a depth he couldn’t quite comprehend, almost drowning out the unease that had filled his mind. He was getting out. The only things he had to grab were his tablet and his pills, and then he was free.

He crouched down beside his bed and reached underneath it for his pill box. His fingertips brushed the edge, but only succeeded in pushing it further out of reach. He sighed. Bending down further, he peered under the mattress as he stretched his arm out, finally securing a hold on the box and pulling it towards him.

He frowned.

There was something on the wall, a spot of red in the vast expanse of white. There were cameras watching his every move, he knew, so he couldn’t be too obvious in his investigation, but the sight of _color_ only made the nagging feeling in the back of his mind worse. It was almost unbearable.

He scooted under the bed to get a closer look. Upon inspection, he found not a spot, but words. A _lot_ of words, written small enough that they were barely visible until you squinted.

_i’m writing where they can’t see, but they always see. they always know. they steal our eyes and use them for their own devices, playing at omniscience while we all go BLind._

_they hate secrets because they can’t be controlled. they're the first step to revolution. secrets will protect you, secrets will kill you._

_they don’t want to kill me. if that were the case, they couldn’t hurt me-- i’m already dead._

_i’m going crazy in this place somebody get me the fuck out of here i can’t take it anymore_

The writings began at one end of the mattress, a single line of texting leading all the way down before looping back to the beginning. They grew more and more desperate as they went on. Gerard couldn’t make all of them out, but those he could he read with horrified fascination. He couldn’t make himself look away.

_where are you_

_i’m so fucking sorry ghoul_

_this is my fault_

_what did i do_

_get me out_

Then, finally…

_i can't do this._

The last word ended in a smear of red. Gerard was terrified, but not surprised, to realize that all of it was written in blood. The only question was, whose blood was it? The Director had said they sometimes held dangerous individuals in the same room he was tested in… Perhaps one of them had stayed in this place, too. 

He crawled out from under the bed. This wasn’t something he wanted to think about. The ramblings of insane criminals were none of his business, and the cameras were still watching him. He had probably looked suspicious, staying out of sight that long, and suspicion was the last thing he needed. What he needed was to _relax_. To stop worrying about what he could or couldn’t remember, whose blood was painted across his own walls, or anything else that wasn’t healing. He was supposed to focus on healing. That was what BLi wanted, what they were watching out for… 

But he just couldn’t pretend anymore.

***

Gerard was driven to his new home in silence. The Director was by his side all the while, but for once, she didn’t ask how he was feeling. If she had, he would have had no idea how to answer. His progress, the healing she’d praised, it was all slowly unraveling, and without it, Gerard didn’t know where he stood.

The van came to an easy halt, and the Director squeezed his hand lightly. “This is our stop.” 

The back doors of the van were thrown open wide. Gerard took a slow, deep breath, then rose and stepped outside. 

All at once, he was hit with a wave of pure sensation. The cement, oddly textured beneath his feet; the cool air that smelled faintly of metal and smoke; the sunlight, so unlike the artificial lighting he’d become accustomed to. It was overwhelming. Not just the physical feelings, but the emotions that accompanied them-- his heart felt like it would burst with euphoria at every breath he took. The smile stretched across his face was so true, it was making his cheeks hurt.

“You’re home,” said the Director. 

Gerard didn’t bother mulling over her words. He knew that something about them was off, but it didn’t matter-- even if this wasn’t his home, it was the closest thing he’d seen in a long time. It was _freedom._

“Why don’t we go inside?” she prodded gently. Gerard hadn’t even looked at his new housing yet. He turned to the apartment building, his eyes following the stories up, and up, and up, until he had to bend his neck back to see the top. 

“Wow. I get to live in there?”

“Yes, but don’t get any ideas about penthouse suites,” she teased. “You’ll be stationed on one of the middle floors, near some others who have gone through my treatment. This is a state-of-the-art rehabilitation center; we mix in a few patients and try to keep you together for your own comfort, but for the most part, the building is populated by normal citizens.”

“Oh, cool.” So, he would get to meet others like himself. But would they really be like him? Would they have the same doubts, or was he an anomaly, a bug in the system? 

A canary in the coal mine.

“Well. Inside we go,” the Director said briskly. She led him in, waving to the draculoid guards stationed in the lobby. They waved back, but let her pass through to the elevator without interruption. 

She punched the button for the third floor as they stepped in. The doors slid smoothly shut, and the floor dipped before rising up. Gerard grabbed onto one of the handrails. After a moment, it stopped again with a quiet _ding_. The doors opened to reveal a new floor. It looked quite similar to the halls of Linda Vista, all white tile and plaster, but the Director spared no time for sightseeing before she was whisking him away.

She stopped before a door with the number 152 stamped onto a metal placard beside it. “This is your room,” she said. This time, she let him look around for a minute before producing a key card from her pocket. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Sure,” he said, taking it. Instead of a handle, the door was equipped with a card reader. He stuck the card in, and it beeped, a white light blinking on as the door swung open. Gerard took his first step inside without waiting for instruction.

This room was much bigger than he was used to. The Director may have joked about a lack of luxury suites, but to Gerard, the room might as well have been one. There was a comfortable-looking bed with a set of matching sheets, a window overlooking the city, a mirror, and a dresser. All of this was his? He reached out to touch the bed. It was every bit as soft as it looked.

“Do you like it?” asked the Director.

“It’s… different,” Gerard said honestly. For all intents and purposes, the place was great, but he wasn’t able to focus on it with the growing unrest eating away at him. It was so white. Why was everything white in the city?

She laughed. “I’ll take that as a good thing. Now, I have a bit more setup to do, but you don’t need to be a part of it. You can stay here and explore a little more. Is that all right with you?”

“Yeah. Are you going to come back again?”

“Oh, certainly. I’ll be heading back to Linda Vista in a few hours, but until then I’ll be somewhere or another.” She smiled. “And I’ll be here once a week for our sessions.”

Gerard raised his eyebrows. “Only once a week?” It was still a fairly intensive schedule, but it was nothing compared to his previous daily treatments. It seemed too good to be true.

“Yes. There are quite a few of my old patients here, you see, so I have to make time to meet with all of them,” she explained. “And we also have group therapy. I wouldn’t be discharging you if I didn’t believe you could handle it.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Gerard sat back on the bed, the soft mattress sinking beneath his weight. He allowed for a small smile. “Really, thank you.”

“Of course.” The Director stepped out the door, then paused. “Feel free to introduce yourself to anyone you may see on this floor. I promise, they're all quite friendly. But do me a favor and don't leave the building without supervision.”

“Um, okay. I think I can do that.”

“Good. You’ll be allowed to leave on your own in a few weeks. If you keep going how you’ve been, it might be even sooner! See you later.” She smiled and pulled the door shut.

But had she really left, if she could still watch him? 

Gerard sighed and fell back across the mattress. At least in his old room, he had known that nothing was private. In this place, the Director had said he would be “monitored,” but what did that mean? Had anything changed? 

He still couldn't go outside by himself. He still had to meet with the Director. There were still people watching, so he still had to lie. Really, the only thing that was different was the room, and the presence of other people he could talk to.

Now _there_ was a concept. Gerard couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to anyone who wasn't the Director. The idea made him nervous… He didn't know how this place worked yet, so he would have to hide from everyone, even those people who had been her patients. There was a good chance that he was the only one who harbored suspicions against her, and it wasn't safe to try and find out. He would have to be extremely careful. 

What he really wanted to do was search his room for cameras, but that would give him away immediately. Gerard let his eyes drift shut and tried to picture where his future was headed. 

There were too many what-ifs to form a cohesive image. What if these weird feelings really were just figments of his imagination? What if they weren't? Nothing was the same now that he’d let the doubts take hold. He could try to fit BLi’s image of a perfect, healthy citizen, but it would always feel like a lie. Was that such a bad thing?

Finally, a question he could answer.

Yes. Yes, it was. 

***

Gerard pushed himself up and took another look around the room. The Director had encouraged him to explore, but honestly, there wasn’t much to see. Not in this room, at least. He got up and pressed a hand to the cool glass of the window.

Many stories below, the people of Battery City moved about like ants. They were tiny in comparison to the artificial canyons that were the buildings, towering in black-and-white grandeur. Interspersed between cars and slow-moving citizens were the familiar white vans. BLi was an omnipresent force in the city. It sometimes acted as an unseen hand, pulling strings and manipulating in the shadows, but it never quite let itself go unnoticed. It was like a subtle threat, a reminder that they were always watching. 

Gerard shivered.

He backed away from the window and found himself walking out the door. He made sure his key was tucked into his pocket before he shut the door, then turned out into the hall. 

Both directions looked identical, but when he turned his head right, something inside him protested so vehemently that he turned on a dime and headed down to the left.

Spaced along the walls were doors like his, with small metal plates bearing a number. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve said they were all empty-- an eerie silence hung about the building. He had expected more sound to come along with the larger, more populated building, but it sounded exactly the same as Linda Vista. The only noise was the soft hum of the electric lights.

Of course, he didn’t know exactly how big Linda Vista was. He had only seen a few of its rooms during his stay. He knew there were more, he had seen them on his way to the testing room, but he had never been permitted to explore them. 

Now, they were giving him a taste of free will, and he was determined to use it to the max.

After a while of walking, he came across an elevator. It accepted his key card, and after looking over the buttons, he pushed the one marked with a 2. It had a black smiley face next to it. That had to mean something, right?

The elevator plunged down, startling him just as badly as it had before. He stabilized himself against the wall until the movement stopped and the doors swooshed open. To his surprise, the floor before him differed from what he had seen: there were people milling about, lounging on couches and talking. 

Upon noticing his presence, the room went quiet.

“Are you the new one?” someone asked.

“Obviously,” said someone else, answering for Gerard. “Just look at him.”

“Don’t be rude,” yet another scolded. “I don’t remember you looking much better when you first showed up.”

There were about ten people in the room, and they all began talking at once, passing judgement on Gerard or bickering with each other. But they weren’t the ones who caught his attention. The one who caught his attention was the lone man who was completely silent, looking at him with an expression that could only be described as shock.

Gerard stepped cautiously out of the elevator. The doors closed behind him, trapping him in front of this group of strangers. 

“Um, hi.”

The quiet one jumped up and stuck out his hand. “Hi.” He was shorter than Gerard, and had to look up to make eye contact as they shook hands. His eyes squinted into a smile, warm hazel irises complementing skin that seemed too tan beneath the city’s white light. But there was something off about it. There was a look hidden behind the smile, something almost… searching. “I’m Pete. What’s your name?”

“Gerard. Are you a patient, too?”

“I guess you could say so.” Pete withdrew his hand, and it rejoined his other in the pocket of his white sweatshirt. “I’m on my way out, though. Almost finished with rehab.” 

“Oh, cool. I just got here from Linda Vista. But I guess you can tell just from looking, right?” Gerard glanced at the other patients, who had quit whispering about him once Pete had stepped up. “You all seemed to know I was new in about a second.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t know you were from Linda Vista.” Pete’s eyes flashed with interest. “A few different hospitals feed into this place, so we get a lot of variety, but it’s been a while since we got anybody from there.”

“Oh.” Gerard couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing. Pete was still looking at him oddly. It took Gerard a moment to realize why it felt so strange; it was the very same way the Director often looked at him, examining every detail, searching for some kind of significance. Pete may have been just another patient, but he had an aura about him that commanded a sort of respect.

“I’m Gabe,” one of the others volunteered. “Nice to meet you.”

“Travie,” another mumbled. The rest kept silent. It wasn’t that they were antisocial, they just seemed… nervous. All of them. When he looked closer, Gerard saw that even Pete’s expression held a trace of apprehension. 

Gerard shifted uncomfortably. “Is there something bad about Linda Vista?”

Pete’s gaze sharpened. “What makes you think that?”

Gerard shrugged. “I dunno. It’s just a feeling I get.”

“You’re an observant one, aren’t you?” Pete nodded with approval. “You’ll fit in well, I think.”

That didn’t answer Gerard's question. 

“So,” Pete said, backing up to the couch and falling into it. “The Director. Has she said anything about your treatment plan? I assume you’ll be in group therapy with us, but has she said anything about work? Privileges?”

“She said I couldn’t leave the building without an escort,” said Gerard. “I don’t know about anything else.”

“Starting from square one, then.” Pete clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “Once you get further along, I can probably swing it so you get to work with me. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds cool. Thanks.” Gerard had the feeling he had just passed some sort of test, but he had no idea what it had been, or what it meant that he had done well. This was uncharted territory. 

He almost went over and sat down, but there was still a tension in the air he wasn’t sure how to work though, and he didn’t have the energy to try and figure out how. In Linda Vista, he had spent a good chunk of his time asleep-- he wasn’t quite used to the wakeful hours involved with rehabilitation. It had been good to meet his fellow patients, and to scope out what was ahead, but all Gerard wanted to do now was head back to his room and nap.

The elevator doors slid open as if they were waiting for him. He stepped back in and was carried to his floor, barely aware of the walk until he was within the confines of his room once more, collapsing into the bed and passing out the second his head hit the pillow. 

***

_When Gerard’s hand touched the windowpane, it melted away in smooth rivulets of glass that splashed down at his feet and evaporated back into the air. He breathed in the scent of silver and looked out across the city. It was empty, blissfully empty. The buildings that had formerly obstructed his view had shrunk, leaving the sky clearly visible. The sun was hidden away behind a thick layer of clouds, soft like cotton, gray like ash._

_He leaned out the window, not thinking to be afraid._

_He leaned out, and he flew towards the hidden sun._

Gerard woke up feeling more rested than he had in a long time.

When was the last time he’d had a dream? He couldn’t remember. His medication usually kept them away, making it feel as if he woke up only seconds after falling asleep. Even now, he could feel the memory drifting beyond his reach.

Across the room, something beeped, and he startled. He pushed away his blanket and sat up, trying to locate the source of the noise. It took a minute of searching before he noticed the line of glowing text running across his mirror. He rubbed his eyes, perplexed, and forced himself out of bed to take a closer look.

“Good morning,” it read. “When I came back, you were asleep, but I hear that you managed to introduce yourself to a few of my other patients. Good for you! Friends will always help you to Better yourself. I’ll be back tomorrow morning to take you to your first group therapy meeting. Sincerely, the Director.” 

Barely a second after he finished reading, there came a knock at his door. He glanced at it, then at himself in the mirror, cursing himself for falling asleep in yesterday’s clothes. He rummaged through his dresser for a new outfit, quickly shrugging on a white button-down shirt and pair of pants before going to open the door.

“You’re up!” the Director said, pleased.

“Just barely,” Gerard admitted. He straightened out the bottom of his shirt. “You said something about group therapy?”

“Yes, we’ll be off to your first meeting momentarily. You met Pete yesterday?”

Gerard nodded.

“Good! He’s one of my most successful patients. Very well-developed. Enjoy your time with him while you can, he’ll be rejoining the common people soon.” The Director winked. “Do you have your key on you?”

Gerard fished his key card from his pocket and held it up.

“Very good. Now, let’s be off!”

She led him down the hall to the elevator, where she pushed the button for the second floor, the same one Gerard had previously selected. 

“This is the lounge,” she said when the door opened, gesturing to the area he had seen. “A lot of the patients spend their free time here. There’s also a rec room, if you get bored of sitting around and talking. I’ll show it to you later.” She steered him away and down another hall, finally coming to a halt at a set of double doors marked “group therapy.”

She pointed to the card reader beside the door. Gerard slid his key in with a _chunk_ , the Director following suit, and the door swung open.

Inside, there was a circle of chairs. Most of them were occupied, but there were a few still empty. Gerard took a vacant seat next to the Director and looked around. He recognized a couple faces from the previous day, but couldn’t quite remember their names. 

The exception to this was Pete, who was sitting on the Director’s other side. His eyes had locked onto Gerard the second he had entered the room. 

“Good morning,” a man sitting across from Gerard said quietly. At first glance, he was almost intimidating: blond, stocky, with shifty blue eyes that never stayed in one place too long. But he sat in a slump, and his voice never rose above a murmur. He might as well have been screaming “don’t look at me.”

“Good morning, Bob,” the Director said brightly. “How have things been going? Do you know where William is, by any chance?”

“He said he was on his way.”

“Good.” The Director turned her attention to a girl seated closer to Gerard. “And you, Hayley? How are things?”

She shrugged. Gerard stared at her in fascination-- her hair was _red_. It must have been her natural color; it never would have been allowed otherwise. He had a feeling that if it were only a few shades lighter, it would have been bleached anyway, but it was just dark enough to meet restrictions. Almost brown, but with a truer pigment shining through. 

The door opened, and a boy he didn’t recognize slipped inside. He sat down next to Bob.

“William, so glad you could join us,” said the Director. She scanned the room. “Is that everyone? No. Gabe is coming today, isn’t he?”

The door opened again, and another boy stumbled inside. “I’m here, I’m here!” he said hurriedly, sliding into the chair beside Pete. “Did I miss anything?”

“No, you’ve just made it. But do try to be more punctual,” the Director chided. “We wouldn’t want to have to hold up our meeting for you.”

Gabe sat up a little straighter, looking properly ashamed. “Of course not.”

The Director cleared her throat. “Let us begin. As I’m sure you all have noticed, we have someone new with us today. This is Gerard. He’ll be staying with us for a while, so I expect everyone to treat him well. Why don’t the rest of you introduce yourselves?”

Gerard listened carefully as the patients each said their names. Gabe, Travie, and Pete were familiar, but he had to force himself to focus as the rest said their names. He caught Hayley, Bob, William, Lynn, and Tyler before the faces and names started to swim in his head. 

After introductions were through, each patient talked about how they were feeling, what they had experienced over the past week, and so on. They talked as if they were alone in the room with the Director. It didn’t matter if anyone was listening; these people had perfected the art of honesty.

“He acts like he’s better than me, just because I’ve had to go through treatment,” Hayley said, frustrated. “Why did I have to end up working beside the one person in Battery City who’s got enough negativity to poke fun?”

“Perhaps,” the Director said gently, “you should focus on combating your negative emotions rather than fueling his. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but he wouldn’t persist in making fun of you if you had better control over yourself. He only wants a reaction. Just keep those feelings in check, and he’ll have nothing to gain. Understand?”

“I understand,” Hayley sighed. Gerard watched as she took on a look of concentration, and the frustration faded from her expression, leaving it eerily blank. While he found it unsettling, the Director seemed pleased.

“Good girl. Who would like to go next? Pete, how about you?”

“Sure.” Pete sat up. “Nothing much has been going on. Work is fun. I got the chance to buy a new pair of headphones the other day, they’ve been working great. I’m up to date on all my meds, I’ll be rejoining society soon, and until then, I get to spend time here with my friends. Really, I don’t see how my life could get any Better.” 

Gerard stared at him in awe.

Pete’s smile was dazzling, it was brilliant, it was exactly what the Director wanted to see, and it was completely and utterly _fake_.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” said the Director, sounding more genuine than she had all day. Pete was obviously her favorite. “Gerard, why don’t you go next?”

“Okay.” Gerard bit his lip. Should he mention his dream? 

Everyone before him had been shockingly honest. They had bared their souls, and even while they said things that the Director probably didn’t approve of, like negative emotions and forgotten pills, she listened patiently and gave them advice. She only wanted to help.

But Pete had lied.

But Pete, the one so clearly favored, had felt reason to lie, and now he was looking at Gerard with an unmistakable warning in his eyes. 

“I’ve been pretty good,” Gerard said hesitantly. “I need to work on fixing my sleep schedule. I basically rolled right out of bed before coming here… But otherwise, I think I like it here. My room’s much nicer, and now I have people to talk to. I’m looking forward to see how life here works, and how it helps me recover.”

“We all are,” the Director smiled. “I’m glad you appreciate BLi’s work. All your effort is just as valued!”

Shortly afterwards, the meeting came to a close. Gerard was ordered back to his room, but in the crowd of patients walking out the door, Pete caught his eye.

“Good job today.”

“Thanks,” Gerard said. Something unspoken passed between them. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but when Pete turned to walk away, his head was clearer than it had ever been. There was somebody out there like him. Another fake. 

If it had been just him that felt this way, he might have been able to ignore it. He could just pretend to be normal, though it was painful, and manage to scrape out a living.

But finding out that there were others like him… it only made him more curious. It only gave him more to hide. If there were others who didn’t trust BLi, then there must have been something that truly made them untrustworthy. Of course, they could never know he felt this way. But part of not trusting them meant keeping things like that secret anyway. 

Gerard thought back to the bloody writings on his old wall.

_Secrets will protect you, secrets will kill you._

_Secrets are the first step to revolution._


	2. In Moments You Cannot Reprise

“A Better Tomorrow is just around the corner-- greet it with a smile!”

The glowing text ran repeatedly across Gerard’s mirror. He tried to focus on his reflection, staring beyond the words until they lost their meaning, but they were impossible to ignore. The light was almost painful to look at. Even when he was trying to sleep, the words would run an endless loop across the mirror’s surface, boring into his mind. He knew them all by heart. Why couldn't they go just away? He was doing exactly what they asked. 

Maybe it wasn't enough to smile. Maybe they wanted the smile to be real. 

Life in his new facility was... different. They called it the Third Eye Center, a place for people like Gerard to build a Better Tomorrow. The first week of his stay was relaxed, but after that, a strict schedule was adopted: education, therapy, mandatory social interaction, and a small amount of free time. His sleep schedule adjusted gradually. After a week or two, he was considerably more wakeful, and didn't need go straight to his bed and pass out after his lessons.

The only time he felt truly exhausted was when he reached out for his pill box.

It wasn't that life in the Third Eye was particularly challenging. Gerard skated through the program, and though the constant lies and fake smiles were nerve-wracking, no one seemed to catch on. He was just another poor, traumatized soul trying his best to to fit into the city. The Director clearly liked him, and, to his surprise, the other patients did, too. 

Perhaps “like” wasn’t the right word. For some reason, they seemed to… look up to him.

He had assumed Pete to be the leader, and as he continued to observe his surroundings, this seemed to be correct. There was a sort of unofficial structure to the group. Some were clearly more attuned to BLi’s agenda than others: they were the ones who obeyed orders without question, whose smiles seemed genuine, like Bob or Tyler. But on the other hand, some had a more difficult time: Gabe showed up late to every group therapy session, and Hayley never smiled unless she was reminded to. 

Everyone had their ups and downs, though. The only exceptions were Pete and Gerard. The admiration they gained by playing along with BLi’s desires was obvious-- they were role models. The other patients liked Gerard because they wanted to _be_ like him. 

They actually wanted to “recover.”

Gerard knew it wouldn’t be safe to confide in any of them. Even the ones who had difficulty with the program never showed any sign of rebellion-- their mistakes didn’t spark anger, only shame. They would apologize and promise to be Better. It never occurred to them to embrace their differences.

The only person Gerard felt remotely safe with was Pete, but they never got the chance to speak alone. Even if they had, Gerard doubted they would be without supervision. There was always something. A sneakily-placed microphone; a camera tucked into the corner of the mirror. 

Going outside provided some relief, but it wasn’t enough. There were still guards, or worse, draculoids. Something about the masked forces sent a trickle of fear down Gerard’s spine. There was no room for error with a drac around. One mutinous word whispered a little too loudly could get him a ray gun pressed to his temple.

He just had to wait until he had earned his supervisors’ complete faith. The virtues BLi coveted were often disturbing--physical beauty, obedience, and positivity under all circumstances, to name a few--but patience was one that Gerard would need to adopt in order to succeed.

When the Director finally gifted him new privileges, he tried to make his smile seem pleasantly surprised rather than triumphant.

“It isn’t often that my patients are this susceptible to treatment,” she said. “Especially when they’ve had a… background such as yours. I’m very pleased with how this is going.”

“So, I can go outside by myself?” Gerard asked, forcing his voice to remain nonchalant.

“Yes, I think you’re ready. And while we’re at it…” The Director opened her bag and pulled out a folder, which she passed to him. “This is your career file. You’ll be given a temporary job until you leave Third Eye, but after that, there are many options available to you! This packet has a survey about which areas you’d like to pursue, and it gives more detail on your temporary job here until you graduate.”

“Which is what?”

The Director paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Well… I’ve decided to place you with Bob on the delivery team. He’s doing fairly well, but he needs to step up a little more, and he certainly looks up to you. You’d be a good mentor for him.”

Oh, hell no. 

“So, what do you think?” the Director asked.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Gerard didn’t believe any of the ideas they were forcing down his throat-- how could he teach them to someone else? 

“It would be an honor,” Gerard said eagerly. He opened the folder and leafed through it. “Which one of these tells me what to do?”

The Director selected one of the papers for him. “Here. Since you haven’t been through driving reeducation yet, Bob will be your chauffeur, and you’ll be in charge of keeping track of shipments. All you have to do is read some forms and make sure they correspond to the labels on some boxes. Very easy. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yeah, no problem. When do I start?”

The Director smiled. “Bob’s waiting in the lobby.”

Gerard raised an eyebrow. “You told him before you told me?”

“I didn’t expect you to turn me down, did I?” She winked. “Go. Your first assignment is on that paper.”

Gerard almost frowned. How had she known he would accept? 

Once he thought about it, the answer was obvious. He'd never really had a choice. 

Gerard dipped his head in gratitude and rose from his chair. The therapy room was empty but for the two of them, and he could feel her eyes pinned to his back as he walked out the door. He exhaled deeply.

It could’ve been worse, but it definitely could’ve been better.

***

“You’re a pretty good driver,” Gerard complimented. “Have you done this often?”

Bob avoided eye contact. “Uh, probably. I don’t really remember. I just finished my reeducation course for it, so…” 

Gerard mentally scolded himself. Of course Bob wouldn’t remember. Memory loss was something all the patients had in common, and it was a sensitive subject for many of them. It was clear that each of them had experienced terrible things; when they let their smiles slip, there was a haunted look they all shared. Their true memories may have been elusive, but the ghosts of past lives would never give them peace. 

“What about you?” Bob asked. “How come they gave you this job? That’s pretty impressive, considering you’ve only been here a few weeks.” 

Gerard shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess they just thought it’d be a good fit for me.”

There was a bit of an awkward silence. Gerard had been given a higher position than Bob, despite the latter having been a patient for much longer, and they both knew it. It wasn’t Bob’s fault, of course. He was genuinely trying to recover; it was no wonder he was having a hard time.

Gerard was just a good actor.

The Director had given them a route to take, which Bob dutifully followed until the van pulled up beside a nondescript building. A set of double doors was open wide, waiting for a delivery, it seemed. Gerard unbuckled his seatbelt and slipped outside. 

While they weren’t deep into the city, this was the furthest Gerard could remember going. Tall buildings surrounded them on all sides, swallowing them up into the heart of the concrete jungle. He glanced from one side of the alley to the other as he opened the back doors of the van. The walls seemed to be too close together, but it was leagues better than Linda Vista or the Third Eye.

While the Director had gifted Bob with directions, she had left Gerard with the necessary forms for his work; a quick look at them told him everything was in order, and he picked up the first box to drop it by the loading dock. Bob rushed to help him until the entire pile had been transferred. They shared a brief moment of satisfaction before turning back.

“We’re a little bit behind schedule,” Bob mumbled, glancing at the clock built into the van’s dashboard. “Hmm… I, uh. I think I’ve been in this area before. Do you want to try a shortcut?” he asked, turning hopefully to Gerard.

“Go ahead,” Gerard said with a nod. The Director didn’t like it when people were late, and he would hate for their tardiness to reflect badly on Bob’s performance. He hadn’t yet seen anyone punished for such an offense, and he didn’t know he ever would--the Director didn’t seem keen on the idea of outright punishments, preferring to lecture rulebreakers--but he didn’t want today to be the day he found her limits.

Bob pulled the van out of the alley, heading down one of Battery City’s many unfamiliar streets. It wasn’t the same street they had first taken. That one had been quieter, less populated, with only a few doors interrupting the blank white walls on either side of the road. This street was busier, with pedestrians milling about, and draculoids flanking the streets. Gerard’s spine stiffened as they drove toward a flock of the white-suited guards.

At its head was a man in a long gray coat. He looked as if he was giving them orders. One hand, covered with a ruffled sleeve, waved in the direction of the street, while his mouth formed words Gerard couldn’t make out.

As the van drew closer, the man turned his head.

His eyes were dark and merciless, like gaping black pits that pulled all traces of joy from the air. They seemed to pose a direct contrast with those of the ever-smiling BLi workers, and yet, they fit right in. 

For a moment, the man’s gaze flickered to the van. Gerard’s stomach twisted. There was something about him that felt familiar in the worst possible way.

“Who is that?” he managed, tearing his eyes away from the man to look at Bob.

“Oh! He’s some bigshot scarecrow,” Bob said, turning his head to look at the man as they drove past him. “I forget his name. It’s something with a K sound, though.”

“Korse?” Gerard said immediately.

He froze.

Why did he know that name? 

“Yeah,” Bob said with a nod. “Dunno why he’d be around here, it’s usually a pretty calm area…” He frowned. “Hey, are you okay?”

Gerard hadn’t realized he was hyperventilating.

The name echoed in his head-- Korse, Korse, _Korse._ It felt like a physical blow to his skull. The fog was building in his mind, worse than it had been in weeks. It rushed in to obscure something, some undesired memory, but it wasn’t enough. Korse was laughing. At what, Gerard didn’t know, but the sound brought waves of panic that couldn’t be pushed away. He was dimly aware that he was shaking. 

Bob grabbed onto his shoulder, eyes wide with concern, and then it all went black.

***

Gerard woke up back in his room. The Director was sitting at the foot of his bed, staring out the window. She hadn’t noticed he was awake.

“Hi,” he mumbled.

Her attention snapped to him. “Gerard! You’re awake, thank goodness.” She pulled her chair closer to him. “Bob called in and said you had fainted. You’re very lucky he brought you in safely.”

Gerard winced, not at her words, but at the ache seeping into his head. With every second he spent awake, he became more aware of it. 

“Gerard?” The Director persisted. 

He pushed himself up on his elbows, shoving away the pain. “What happened?” As he thought back, he could recall driving out with Bob, and making their delivery, but the only thing beyond that point was a vague sense of fear. This time, the obstruction was not the fog he had grown accustomed to.

It was a solid wall.

The Director pursed her lips. “While you were outside, you experienced a… regression. Something you saw triggered a panic attack. It didn't mix well with your medication." There was a pause, and then she sighed. “Gerard, I’d like to apologize. If I had known this was going to happen, I never would have sent you out. I acted too quickly.”

“No, you didn’t,” he protested. “You couldn’t have known. I can still go outside, can’t I?”

“I’m certainly glad this hasn’t impeded your desire to recover, but really… You’ve only been here a few weeks. That’s an extraordinary amount of time to have already started working. Perhaps you should rest for a while longer, and then, when you’re ready, we can send you back out,” she said, voice gentle.

“But it was just a fluke,” Gerard tried. “Bob took a shortcut. If we hadn’t gone that way, we wouldn’t have seen… whatever it was I saw. It won’t happen again.” He hated to put any sort of blame on Bob, but he couldn’t stand the idea of being confined to the Third Eye after being given a taste of freedom. 

“No buts,” said the Director, and Gerard knew that her statement was final. 

He smiled. It was reflexive by now, to force a delighted look even when given the most terrible news. The Director patted his shoulder.

“Would you like to attend our group therapy meeting this afternoon?”

Gerard nodded. He wanted to apologize to Bob, and, more importantly, to talk with Pete.

“I’ll leave you alone until then. But first,” said the Director, taking the pill box from Gerard’s nightstand, “we’ve made a few alterations to your prescription.”

Gerard blinked. He took the box from her and popped the lid open. Inside, there were his weekly pills. Usually, this meant one or two pills in each compartment, but now, they each contained as many as four. His breath caught in his throat. 

Was that why he couldn’t remember what happened? They had upped his dosage? 

“We decided that it would be best for you to receive a stronger medication,” the Director explained. “So we don’t have any more incidents like today’s.”

“Thank you,” he said, feigning gratitude. She was still looking at him. Did he have to take them now?

She nodded encouragingly.

One by one, he set each pill on his tongue and swallowed them dry. It took only a moment for them to make his head rush. He blinked hard, grabbing onto his blanket to steady himself. 

“They do have quite the kick,” said the Director. “But it’ll go away soon. You should be in perfect condition by the meeting.” She rose from her chair with a smile. “I look forward to seeing you."

“Same to you,” Gerard managed. He could feel the wall that sectioned away his memories strengthening. It grew thicker and thicker, expanding until it blocked out almost everything. What was it he had forgotten? What was he feeling, again? 

A smile popped onto his face. 

“Have a nice day!”

The Director closed the door. He gave a fond look to the she had occupied only moments before.

She was so nice. He was lucky to have her helping him, really. 

***

Pete’s head snapped up as soon as Gerard walked in the door. He looked upset for some reason. Too bad. He was usually so positive. What could have happened to make him slip up?

Gerard sat down next to Bob, tapping him on the shoulder. “Hi. I’m really sorry for what happened earlier. I hope I didn’t scare you too badly.”

Bob looked at him with surprise. “No, it’s fine! I’m just glad you’re okay.” He took a moment to study Gerard’s face. _”Are_ you okay?”

Gerard laughed. “I’m great! Never been Better.”

“Oh. I dunno, you just seem… Different, somehow.” Bob tilted his head, looking confused for just a moment before he shook it off. “It’s good that you’re happy, though! Did the Director say anything about letting you work again?”

“Now, Bob,” the Director chided. “Let’s wait until sharing time.”

“Right, sorry,” said Bob, blushing.

“It’s no trouble. But…” She frowned. “Where on earth is Gabriel?”

Gerard looked around the room. Everyone seemed to be present, but Gabe’s usual seat was empty. 

The Director sighed. “Well, he’s very aware of my no-tolerance policy. If he’s late, it’s by his own doing, and we are under no obligation to wait for him. Shall we begin?”

“Can I go first?” Bob asked.

“Yes, go ahead.”

“Today was… an eventful day,” he said, hesitating. “Gerard got partnered up with me. It was the first day of work for both of us. We made a couple of deliveries, but towards the end, we started running a little late. I… I suggested we take a shortcut. On the way, we passed by Ko--”

“Bob,” the Director interrupted. “Please be mindful of your audience. Say only what is necessary, remember?”

“Oh! I’m sorry,” said Bob, casting a frightened look at Gerard. “Sorry. Anyway, we passed by _something,_ and it made Gerard freak out. It was scary, but I called the Director right away and she came to get him. I’ve been waiting for news ever since.”

“If you hadn’t been off schedule, this would not have happened,” the Director said. “But, due to your quick action, Gerard is fine. You performed admirably.”

“Thank you,” Bob mumbled.

“I really should suspend you,” she said sternly. “But I’m willing to give you a second chance. Will you promise to be Better?”

“Yes!” he said eagerly. “I’ll do my very best.”

“Make sure that you do. Now,” the Director said, shifting her attention to Gerard, “Would you like to share your experience?”

He nodded. “It’s just like Bob said. I panicked and blacked out, and the next thing I knew, I was back in my room. But I’m feeling loads Better now. It’ll be a while before I can work again, but I’m on new meds, and hopefully I’ll make a full recovery soon.”

“We’re all rooting for you,” said Pete. He smiled wide, but it didn’t reach his eyes. For some reason, he still looked sad. No, “sad” was the wrong word. Upset, maybe. Worried. Cautious. Overall, it was an unpleasant mix. Why didn’t he report it to the Director? She would have him fixed up in no time. 

Throughout the rest of the meeting, Pete and Gerard cast furtive glances at each other. On their way out, Pete waited outside the door for Gerard, placing a careful hand on his shoulder.

“How are you feeling?”

“Me?” asked Gerard, grinning. “I’m great. Really, what happened today… it was no big deal. I’m over it, and I’ll have my privileges back soon. Don’t worry about me.”

“You said you were on new meds?”

“Yeah! They’re working perfectly," Gerard said happily. "Much better than the old ones.” It was the truth-- the medication allowed him to think about only what was necessary. Anything else was pushed away. It was so relaxing, not having to worry about anything. How had he ever functioned otherwise?

“Oh.” Pete’s smile wavered. “Well, uh… The high dosages tend to be strongest in the first few days. After that, you build up a bit of a tolerance. They wear off a little. Tell me if they do, okay?”

“If that happens, I should probably report it to the Director, shouldn’t I?” said Gerard, tilting his head. “She never said anything about the pills weakening.”

“It’s nothing major,” Pete said quickly. “Just tell me. Can you do that?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Gerard gave him a brief smile before turning away, heading down the hall in the opposite direction.

He didn't expect anything to come of Pete's warning, but he appreciated it all the same. 

***

Gerard’s lessons were probably the most interesting part of his day. When he had first arrived at the Third Eye, his academic level had been evaluated, and courses had been selected for him based on the results. He ended up with a considerable amount to learn: math, science, history, health, and so much more. This was a good thing, they told him, a sign of his mental capacity. It was all so _fascinating_.

At first, he hadn’t felt that way. He'd thought the math boring; the history, strange. He hadn’t had a proper appreciation for it. But recently, it had become so much more enjoyable. Who knew there was so much information in the world?

“We’ve got a new subject for you today!” beamed Mara, one of his many instructors. There was a large cast of workers assigned to reeducation. They all shared similar characteristics; with white lab coats, dilated pupils, and limitless enthusiasm for knowledge. He admired all of them, but Mara was probably his favorite. She was the most accommodating to his style of learning.

“What would that be?” Gerard asked.

She pulled out a binder filled with papers, the pages marked with black sticky notes. “We just finished our math rotation, so we’re back into the health unit now. That means we get to talk about emotions! My favorite of all the subjects.”

“But… don’t we always talk about emotions?” Gerard asked, his brow furrowing. “That’s a standard part of therapy, isn’t it?”

She giggled. “Oh, no. This is very different from therapy. With the Director, you talk about your own personal feelings, and how to deal with them. Here, you’ll learn about the subject of emotion in general. You’ll learn how it all works! What causes them, what’s normal, what’s not, that sort of thing. We’ll also talk a fair amount about BLi’s medications.”

“Oh.” Gerard sat up a little straighter. “So, it’s like two sides of the same coin. The Director teaches the mental aspects of recovery, and you teach the scientific?”

“Yes, exactly. Do you have any questions before we begin?”

Gerard shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

Mara turned the binder around so Gerard could look at it. “Now, feelings of happiness and pleasure are--”

“Wait,” he said. “I do have one question.”

She looked up. “What is it?”

“Is it normal for medications to weaken over time?”

Mara scoffed. “Weaken? Of course not. BLi pills have a set strength. There would have to be some sort of problem in manufacturing for them to wear off… but that’s impossible. Such a thing would be noticed. It wouldn’t be allowed! No, we’ve never had a case of faulty pills before.” She cocked her head slightly. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” he said quickly. “It’s just, I wanted to make sure my meds would always work as well as they are right now. I’d hate for there to be a lapse.”

Mara smiled reassuringly. “BLi would never let you down like that. The aftermath is secondary, remember? Just trust us, Gerard. Don’t overthink things.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “What were you saying about happiness?”

“Right.” Mara pointed to a diagram on the page. “Positive feelings are linked to the prefrontal cortex in your brain…”

_Don’t overthink things._

Gerard was so focused on his lesson, so distracted, so busy _not thinking,_ he didn’t even realize he had lied until Mara was waving goodbye.

“No reason,” he’d said. “I’d hate for there to be a lapse.”

That wasn’t the truth. Gerard had been covering for Pete. Why had he done that? He should have told someone. Pete was obviously having some sort of trouble, if he believed that it was possible for the pills to wear off.

_Just trust BLi._

Did Pete… 

Did he _not_ trust BLi? 

Gerard stared at the binder Mara had left for him to look over. Why would anyone have doubts about BLi? They were the definition of benevolence. They helped people recover from traumatic experiences, they kept Battery City running smoothly, they made sure everyone was happy… 

Gerard had the sudden feeling that something was very, very wrong.

***

Gerard’s jaw dropped. “I… What?”

“I just don’t think you and Bob are the best combination,” the Director sighed. “I was hasty to place you together. I should have thought it through more.The fact is, Gerard, you’re too similar. You’re both vulnerable. Considering the minimal length of your stay at the Third Eye, you’re a remarkably stable patient, but you aren’t invincible. Would you disagree?”

“No,” Gerard mumbled.

“You weren’t ready for a mentor’s role,” she said gently. “That isn’t a bad thing. You’ll get there. But for now, I can’t condone a partnership between two unstable patients. I think it would be best to place you with someone who can teach you how to be a leader.”

“So, who’s my new partner going to be?”

The Director smiled. “You haven’t guessed already? I’m surprised. Gerard, starting tonight, you’ll be working with Pete.”

Gerard’s stomach twisted. He forced a look of delight, hoping it was convincing, but the only thing running through his mind was, _”Not him.”_

“It’ll only be until he graduates,” said the Director. “But I think that’s the perfect timeframe, don’t you? He can be your mentor until it’s time for him to go, then you can step up into his place.” She sounded dreadfully pleased with herself. If only she knew what a bad decision she had made.

Gerard couldn’t work with him. 

He didn’t know why, but the idea of working with Pete caused him extreme discomfort. It felt like his mind was splitting in two-- half of him was consumed with anxiety, and the other half… The other half was _pleased._ Excited, even. As if Pete hadn’t directly admitted to doubting BLi, destroying his reputation in Gerard’s mind as a healthy patient. He was the opposite of stable. He was dangerous. What if he tried to force his strange, rebellious ideals onto Gerard?

Why did half of Gerard feel like that wouldn’t be a bad thing?

The Director was still talking. “Your line of work will be a little different. Pete has a position as a city guard-- he’ll probably enter S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W training after graduation. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Yeah,” said Gerard, forcing himself to focus once more on the conversation. “Yeah, that’s really cool.”

“I believe you’re scheduled for free time until then.” The Director consulted her clipboard. “Yes, that’s right. Oh, and there’s a little gift waiting on your tablet.” She winked. “In honor of your reinstated privileges, I downloaded some new reading material for you.”

Gerard blinked, the smile on his face instantly becoming more genuine. “Really?” He pushed his chair away from the table and grabbed his tablet from his nightstand. 

His reading app typically displayed the thumbnails of whatever he had been recently browsing. Each thumbnail was a little preview, a snippet of the black and white comic books he was partial to.

There was a new one waiting for him in the menu. Judging from the plain text that filled the preview, it was a normal book. But…

“What happened to my comics?” he asked, confused. All the other thumbnails that usually awaited him had disappeared.

“Oh, I deleted those,” said the Director, waving a hand. “You’ve outgrown them. They don’t have any place here.” Her smile did not waver. “I’m sure you’ll be much happier with regular books. Don’t you agree?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll support whatever you think is best,” he said.

That was the second lie he had told.

“Well, I’ll leave you alone to enjoy yourself,” the Director said cheerfully. “A reminder will be sent to you when it’s time to leave for work. If you need me, just call!” She wiggled her fingers in farewell, then exited the room. 

Gerard sighed. 

Why had she felt the need to get rid of his comics? They weren’t hurting anything. They made him happy-- wasn’t that what BLi was trying so hard to do?

_Don’t overthink things._

He glanced down at his tablet, feeling slightly sick.

***

Pete was waiting for him in the lobby. 

Gerard straightened his collar, glancing at the draculoid guards stationed at the building’s entrance. Dracs always gave him the creeps. Maybe it was the bloody red tint of their mouths-- the color felt out of place next to their monochrome uniforms. He walked past as quickly as he could, holding his chin high.

“Gerard,” Pete greeted him, pleasant as could be. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Gerard replied. He gave Pete only a quick glance before averting his eyes. Outwardly, everything seemed normal, but he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t find that trace of concern in Pete’s eyes if he looked for too long. If he found it, he’d have to think about what it meant. 

If he let himself see it, he would have to acknowledge the part of him that wanted to _understand_ it.

“Got your ID card? We’ll need it to get out of here,” said Pete. Gerard nodded, reaching into his pocket and giving the card to Pete, who took it to the front desk. After checking them both out, Pete pushed the door open and held it for Gerard. 

“Here we go!”

The fresh air hit them in a cool blast, sweeping Gerard’s blond hair back as he stepped outside. Pete let the door go, and it swung abruptly shut, making a _click_ as it automatically locked.

“Our station is down right this way,” said Pete, walking a little faster. His legs might have been much shorter, but Gerard had to double his pace to keep up. “It’s a little boring, this line of work. But I think we can find ways to make it interesting.” He turned a corner and disappeared for a moment.

When Gerard rounded the bend, he skidded to a halt. Pete had stopped on the edge of the sidewalk. His back was turned to Gerard. Slowly, he raised a hand to his collar, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.

Gerard stiffened. Something was wrong. “Pete, what are you--”

“Shh!” Pete turned around, holding an urgent finger to his lips. For a second, he stood frozen. Once he was sure Gerard wouldn’t make a sound, he let his finger drift back down to his side, and whistled out a long, clear note.

Somewhere in the distance, someone whistled back.

Gerard barely had time to react before Pete was grabbing him by the sleeve and tugging him down the street.

“No questions, no talking, no nothing ‘till we’re out of sight!” he hissed. He dashed into a nearby alley, Gerard stumbling behind him until they hit a dead end. Pete turned around, and Gerard could barely contain his shock. 

The Pete that had spoken so charmingly to the Director, had smiled through every second of therapy, he was gone. Before Gerard was someone entirely new. Well… perhaps not entirely. Every trace of anger and hidden feeling that he had glimpsed in Pete’s face was now readily displayed. He stood taller, with a different attitude, something more defiant. He was breathing hard, his hazel eyes blazing gold with emotion. Gerard had never seen anything like it.

Pete rushed forward and grabbed onto Gerard’s collar. Gerard jumped back, but the deed was done: a small ripping sound, and Pete held a scrap of fabric in his fingers. He tossed it to the ground. It made the wrong sound against the pavement; not the silent landing of cloth, but the clink of metal. Gerard crouched down to inspect it.

He ran his fingers along the white fabric. Hidden within the seam, there was a tiny lump. He forced the seam apart, and a piece of metal fell to the ground. Pete scooped it up and held it tight in his fist.

“Bugged,” he said. Even his voice had changed. It was rougher, lower; different, but not necessarily in a bad way. “They’d never let us outside without some sort of surveillance.”

Gerard looked around, the reality of the situation crashing over him. This was so much worse than he had expected. Pete wasn’t just keeping secrets, he was _actively rebelling._

“Aren’t there cameras?” Gerard whispered.

“No. A friend of mine’s got them temporarily on a loop. But we haven’t got much time, so,” Pete crouched down to Gerard’s level and looked him in the eye, “I need you to tell me what you know.”

“I…” Gerard swallowed hard. “What’s going on?”

Pete sat down with a sigh. “BLi. They can’t be trusted. I know you figured that much out, at least before they drugged you up again. I need you to think. How much do you know?”

Gerard didn’t respond. A million thoughts raced through his head, but he couldn’t speak.

This was wrong. This was _so_ wrong. They were going to be caught. 

“Forget about the threats,” Pete urged. “Come on, Gerard. _Think._ What would you do if there was no one to punish you?”

_Don’t overthink things. Trust BLi._

But… what _would_ Gerard do? 

What would he do if BLi wasn’t there? 

“I can’t do this,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t. Pete, you need to get help, this is--”

“Fuck their help,” Pete said forcefully. Gerard flinched. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard someone curse. Profanity had no place in Battery City, the Director always said. 

Almost like his comics had no place-- but that was crap. They hadn't hurt anything. Gerard had never done anything. 

“Gerard,” Pete said seriously. “We don’t have time. Deep down, somewhere, you know that this isn’t how things are supposed to be. BLi just wants to suffocate us. They want to _control_ us, they’re stealing our fucking feelings, and I know you see it. This isn’t what life is meant to be.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to think,” Gerard said. His fingers trembled with sudden energy. Adrenaline was pouring through his veins, the polar opposite of the heaviness his medications always brought on. “I, Pete, I can’t think.” 

“I know,” said Pete, more gently this time. “Here. Try something else.” He took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly until Gerard followed his lead. “Just let go of everything. No, don’t _try_ to forget. Just let it happen. Don’t focus on anything, just… relax.”

Gerard let his eyes drift shut, trying to do as Pete said. It was easier said than done. If he didn’t have something to focus on, all that he could see was that wall, enclosing him within a small section of his mind. Looking at it made him want to punch through it, or to run away.

But there was nowhere to run.

“You know why they ask you so many questions in therapy?” Pete asked. Gerard shook his head slightly. “They want to be in control. They like structure, y’know? They only want you to think of what they’re asking, nothing more. But if you let your mind wander, other things might occur to you. You can think outside their box.”

“What do you mean, things might occur to me?” Gerard murmured. “What kind of things?”

Pete laughed softly. “Nuh-uh. I’m not like them, I’m not going to lead you.”

Gerard opened his eyes, frowning. “Then how do I know what I’m looking for?”

“That’s the beauty of it,” Pete smiled. “You have to find out for yourself.” 

Like everything else, his smile had changed. Gerard couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was different. Maybe it was the extra glow in his eyes, the aura of content. It wasn’t the mania BLi demanded. It was more peaceful, yet so much more powerful. There was a… _potential_ in it. 

Gerard closed his eyes once more, and tried to let everything slip away.

What would he choose to do, if BLi wasn’t choosing for him? 

What made him happy? The comic books, he thought. They could barely be called comics, with their stick-figure art and lack of color, but they were good enough to make his smile genuine.

The Director had told him to forget them.

She had told him to ignore the nagging feelings in his head, to forget his past, to just be happy instead. But how could he be happy if he didn’t know what truly brought him joy?

Mousekat. Kobra Kid. Killjoys, the way Pete smiled, they all had one thing in common. They spoke of something more. Something that BLi wanted to erase, but refused to be wiped away. A feeling stronger than any pill or mantra. A potential built into his very core, just waiting to be set free.

Maybe that was what Gerard should have been chasing all along. 

“I think,” Gerard whispered. He licked his lips. “I think I want to find what I’m missing.”

He opened his eyes, and Pete was beaming.

“That’s good. That’s really, really good.” He pushed himself to his feet, holding out his hand, where he still held the bug that had been in Gerard’s collar. “When we leave, put this in your pocket, and change as soon as you get back to your room. I don’t think they’ll notice that it was removed, as long as you keep it nearby.”

Gerard took it, making sure it stayed muffled in his closed palm. “What am I supposed to do, now that you’ve told me all this?”

Pete shrugged. “Just act. You were doing fine before. I know it’s hard right now, but once the meds wear off, it’ll get easier.”

“About that.” Gerard hesitated. “I, uh… I asked one of my educators if it was possible for the medications to weaken. She said no.”

Pete sighed. “That’s what they think. I wish you hadn’t said anything, but what’s done is done.”

“How do you know they’ll wear off?”

“Because I’m on the same prescription.” He winked. “I’ve been on them since day one, I recognized your symptoms right away. We’re really fucking lucky there’s a flaw in the recipe.”

Gerard winced. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked her about it.”

“Nah, it’s okay. It was the pills talking.” Pete extended his hand and helped Gerard stand up. “Now-- we’re going to go to our post, and we’re going to stay there for the rest of our shift. My friend’s a tech genius, he has the cameras set up so the Director will never know we dawdled. When we get back, we’ll pretend nothing happened. We’re both zombies. You get me?”

“I think so.” 

“Okay. We’re going live now, don’t say a word.” Pete let go of his collar, and Gerard slipped the bug he held into his pocket. 

“Let’s go,” Pete mouthed.

He led Gerard out of the alley and down the street, to a squat white building with a set of heavy steel doors. He planted his feet in front of them and motioned for Gerard to do the same.

Holy crap, Gerard was really doing this. The thought sent a thrill shooting up his spine. Thoughts of a tantalizing new future, one where he didn't have to conform, danced across his mind. He didn’t bother imagining the details--they would only remind him of how impossible it was--but it couldn’t hurt to dream, could it? Dreaming was the first step. 

If he lost himself in dreams, BLi had no power over him. He was free. He was finally able to see his Better Tomorrow.

But in a deliciously ironic twist of fate, that Tomorrow was better only because it was _his_ to control.

***

Pete was right about the pills. In only a few days, Gerard felt the wall in his mind weaken, until it finally dissolved into fog. His thoughts grew clearer. Most of the time, he could even push away the whisperings of the medication that told him he was making the wrong choice. He knew was doing what was right. 

This new realization allowed him to look at everything in a different light. New questions popped into his mind every time a BLi employee spoke. He was putting himself in more danger than he ever had before, but at the same time, hiding it became easier. Secrets begot secrets.

“Good morning,” he greeted his instructor for the day. Smiling at her was easy; in fact, it was hard not to laugh. She was so clueless. 

“Good morning, Gerard,” said said, smiling back. This one’s name was Jennifer. He’d called her Jenny once, only to be reproached. Nicknames were frowned upon in the Third Eye. Of course they were. A few of the patients went by nicknames, like Travie and Gabe, but Gerard assumed they would eventually have to transition to their full names. No proper citizen could go walking around with something as individualized as a nickname. 

“We’re burning through world history pretty fast,” Jennifer said happily, sitting down across from him at the table. “We should be onto the Helium Wars soon!”

“I already know about the Helium Wars,” Gerard complained. “I grew up in the city. How could I not?”

The Helium Wars, also known as the Analog Wars, were a mandatory part of schooling for any city-born. When he was young, he’d been BLi’s perfect little schoolchild. He listened to his teachers with rapt attention, taking in every detail; how the helium bombs had rained down across the world, how almost every continent had been ravaged, the natural disasters that followed, and the final emergence of two powers known as the United States and Japan. Then, of course, the rise of Better Living Industries. How they restored peace to the world, how all the war’s survivors were brought to Battery City and introduced to a new way of life.

Or, almost all the survivors. Not everyone had supported BLi’s agenda.

Gerard got the sense he hadn’t turned his thoughts to his childhood for quite some time, judging by the pang that accompanied them. It was odd. The more he reached back, the more he uncovered. Memories of crisp white uniforms and bright screens; keeping his face blank as he walked home from school, his brother, Mikey, clinging to his hand; swallowing pills every morning and evening without fail.

These weren’t memories that had been locked away by BLi, but by himself. He must have done it for a good reason, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. The Director said the root of all his problems was Mikey’s death, but he knew enough now that he couldn’t trust her account. Mikey hadn’t been murdered by killjoys. Maybe he wasn’t even dead. But if the Director was lying, why did reflecting on his days in Battery City feel so strange, so painful?

What had happened to him? 

Jennifer was oblivious to his turmoil. “It’s always good to go over the details. There’s always something new to learn! But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, we won’t be moving on to the Wars for at least another week.”

Gerard nodded, allowing himself to go on autopilot. As long as he talked every few minutes, and kept smiling, she’d never notice he wasn’t paying attention. He was good at pretending to be engaged. If he ever slipped up, she’d just write off his glassy-eyed stare as a side effect of the meds.

She'd never see through it. After all-- he knew something she didn't know. 

But maybe he wasn’t so much better than them. They both kept secrets from one another. Really, the balance of power was equal, if not still skewed in BLi’s favor. Gerard could think freely, but not act upon his thoughts. He could search for the memories he had lost, but BLi still had them locked away. 

He wasn’t out of the woods yet, and he couldn’t let himself forget it. He was still in danger. Every second he spent rebelling against BLi was a reason they could… 

There was something else he hadn’t bothered thinking about. What _would_ they do to him, exactly? Give him more pills? Tell him off?

Kill him?

Gerard shivered. He could think as much as he liked, but BLi still had him in the palms of their hands. Until he somehow gained more power, all he could do was think. 

But that didn’t have to be such a bad thing. Thinking was only the first step. What came after, Gerard didn’t know.

He was starting to look forward to it.

***

Interacting with the other patients had a new layer of tension, now that Gerard had some handle on what was going on. All these people… Their minds had been wiped blank, and for what purpose? To perpetuate conformity? Gerard had always pitied them to some degree, but watching them stumble through “treatment,” eyes eager, souls forgotten, made him ache. They weren’t the first patients to inhabit the Third Eye, and they wouldn’t be the last. 

It made him restless. Inside, he was a mess of nervous energy, ready to leap into action, but his hands were tied. The only thing that kept him composed through that afternoon’s group therapy was the knowledge that he wasn’t alone. Pete sat two seats away from him, glancing over every few minutes. 

They could do this, Gerard reminded himself. Together, they could do this. 

“Well done, Tyler!” said the Director, clapping softly for the boy sitting beside Gerard. “I appreciate how hard you’ve been trying lately. If we could all combat negativity so well, there wouldn’t be an ounce of displeasure in Battery City!”

“My turn?” Gerard asked. The Director nodded, and he launched into a pre-prepared monologue. He was so excited to be working with Pete, he was considering the future that awaited him after graduation, blah blah blah. She ate it right up. 

Travie went next, then Lynn. Hayley was in the middle of her daily rant when the door creaked open. Gabe stumbled to his seat, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor.

“Gabriel?” said the Director, her voice like ice. She had long since grown tired of his tardiness. Perhaps today would be the day she finally decided to punish him. “Would you care to inform us where you’ve been?”

Gabe swallowed hard. His hands trembled as he twisted them, locking his fingers together and pulling them apart repeatedly. “I… N-no, it’s nothing. I’m sorry.” His eyes flicked back and forth, looking anywhere but at the Director. Beneath them, dark shadows were carved into his face, like purple bruises that refused to fade. 

The Director frowned. As she looked him over, her icy stare melted into something more concerned. “Gabriel, are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “I just, I couldn’t quite… I forgot. I didn’t mean to.”

“Gabe,” the Director said, leaning toward him. “I need you you be honest with me.”

He took a shaky breath, finally glancing up at her with fear in his eyes. “My head, it-- it hurts, I don’t know why. It won’t stop. I--” He took a moment to gasp for air. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

The Director pressed her palm to his forehead, looking more and more worried. “You’re burning up.” She suddenly stood up and addressed the group as a whole. “I’m going to take Gabe to the infirmary. You… You all may do what you wish. Go to your rooms, or the lounge, or somewhere you’re allowed to be. Just wait for further instructions.” 

She pulled Gabe up from his chair. He leaned against her as they walked, and she was practically dragging him by the time they were out the door. Gerard could only gape at the empty seats they had left.

“That was scary,” Tyler breathed.

“I didn’t even know we had an infirmary,” Hayley whispered. “Nobody ever gets sick here.”

They all sat quietly, as if in a daze.

Pete was the first to stand up. “Gerard,” he said shortly. “Come with me.” He was out the door in a matter of seconds, Gerard hurrying after him.

“We’re going to my room,” said Pete, his voice steady as they walked down the hall toward the elevators. “We can talk there. Don’t worry about Gabe, he’ll be fine. Everything’s fine.”

He was only saying it for the benefit of the security cameras, and they both knew it.

Gerard walked faster.

***

The second they were inside Pete’s room, he held a finger to his lips. Gerard turned away as he shrugged off his shirt and stuffed it beneath his bed, slipping on a new one. He grabbed a second shirt and pointed to Gerard, who nodded and exchanged it for his own. Once he was finished, Pete tapped him on the shoulder and ushered him into the bathroom, closing the door behind them.

“I don’t have as many bugs or cams as the average patient,” he said quickly. “I’m pretty lucky-- I’ve got some bug-free clothes, and the bathroom’s completely safe. There are a lot of blind spots in the room, too, so I don’t think we’ll be noticed. But there’s always risk. We’ll need to stay in here and keep our voices down.”

“What happened to Gabe?” Gerard asked.

Pete scowled. His fists clenched, and for a moment, he looked as though he were about to punch the wall.

Then he sat down on the edge of the bathtub, sighing deeply. “It’s my fault.”

Gerard blinked. “What?”

“It’s my fault,” Pete repeated. “I took him off his meds.”

Gerard did a double take. “You _what?_ ”

“I stole them,” said Pete, looking utterly miserable. “Not everybody wakes up on their own. Not everyone is like us, you know? I thought I could set him on the right track if I got him off the pills. I was desperate, and Gabe seemed… He was the least receptive to BLi’s treatment, I think. The most stable. I thought he might be able to handle it. When he didn’t report the pills as missing, I thought maybe he was starting to rebel a little, and maybe he was, but it’s too late now. He’s addicted. They all are. Hell, _we_ are. Just because the drugs are weak on us doesn’t mean we don’t depend on them.”

“He’s going through withdrawal,” Gerard realized. Pete nodded.

“They’ll diagnose it in no time, and then he’ll be back on the meds. I’m so fucking stupid.” Pete glowered at the floor. “He’s hurt because of me, and all I did was raise needless suspicion.”

“There’s no way they’ll suspect you,” Gerard assured him. “They like you too much.”

“I know. They’ll probably suspect a street rat stole them, some addict willing to do anything for a fix. But this makes it so much fucking harder if I wanted to try again.” Pete leapt up and began pacing the floor. “I wouldn’t steal any more outright, obviously, I don’t want anyone else getting hurt. But I can’t sit by and watch this happen. They get more complacent every day. Of course, if _he_ hadn’t been such a stubborn asshole, none of this would have happened… God damnit. It always comes back to BLi, doesn’t it? We’re like rats in a fucking maze. Electric shocks at every corner, and no way out.”

At this point, he was just talking to himself. Gerard had lost him about halfway through his monologue. But letting him vent seemed to be the best option, so Gerard sat patiently until Pete’s voice trailed off.

“He didn’t, because…” Pete’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, shit. That’s it!” His mood shifted from pissed off to elated fast enough to give someone whiplash. He grabbed Gerard by the shoulders. “I know what to do. I know how to fix this, Gerard! I’m gonna need your help, though. Say you’ll help me.”

“I’ll help,” said Gerard. “What do you need me to do?”

Pete grinned. “I’m going to take you to a friend of mine. He knows drugs better than anybody… If I play my cards right, he can get us some cheap pills. They won’t be too strong, but they’ll be enough to keep a patient going if we snatch their prescription, you feelin’ me?”

“So we could wean them off instead of going cold turkey?”

“Exactly!” Pete said excitedly. “And the best part is, there’s no way I can play my cards wrong. I can’t lose when I’ve got an ace up my sleeve!” 

“What do you mean?” Gerard asked.

Pete winked.

“The ace, Gerard, is you.”

***

The next day, Pete guided Gerard out of the Third Eye as if everything was normal. They strolled down the street, Pete whistling nonchalantly, then dipped behind a building. Gerard smoothed his fingers along his collar without prompt. Once he found the bug, he pinched it between his fingers and whispered to Pete, “Are we good?”

“We’re good,” Pete replied. “I’d prefer not to do this so close to the building, but running too far off would be stupid. My friend’s meeting us here.”

Gerard leaned against the wall. The painted cement was frigid to the touch, but standing in the middle of the alley made him feel far too exposed. He fixed his eyes on the street. 

What kind of person could this “friend” be, if they could get past BLi’s security? He didn’t think any standard pill popper would help them rebel. The people of Battery City were just as brainwashed as the patients Pete was trying to help; they would never do something so suspicious.

Unless, of course, this friend wasn’t from Battery City. 

“Pete, who--”

“Shh!” Pete said suddenly. “He’s here.”

A moment later, a boy clad in black ducked into the alley.

He ran up to Pete, his footsteps slapping quietly against the pavement. “Hey!” he said, his voice hushed. “Dude, did you really steal Disaster’s meds? Are you crazy?”

“Yes, I did,” Pete said sharply. “No thanks to you. Are you going to help me make a better plan?”

Gerard took a moment to look the boy over. “Boy” did seem to be an accurate descriptor; he looked younger than Gerard or Pete. A teenager, maybe. His black clothing was in stark contrast with the bright smile on his face. He winced at Pete’s glare, but his enthusiasm was mostly uninhibited. He was all bouncy energy from the tips of his boots to his elegantly shaved hair. 

“Depends on what you’ve got to offer,” the boy said. “You promised me a good time; you'd better make good on that.”

Pete snorted. “It’ll definitely be interesting, if that’s what you mean. You’d have noticed why if you weren’t busy harassing me.”

The boy pouted. “I thought you liked it when I harassed you? But what do you…” His eyes flicked to Gerard.

“Holy _shit,_ ” he said loudly. “Par--”

“Shut up!” Pete snapped. “You know how it works.”

The boy’s eyes bugged out as he stared at Gerard, but he managed to nod. “Right, right. Of course. But… shit, man. Whatever you want me to do, that’s it, I’m in.”

“Um,” Gerard said. “What exactly just happened?”

“Nothing,” Pete said quickly. “Gerard, this is Killer King. Killer, this is Gerard.”

“Killer King?” Gerard said questioningly. The name felt strange on his tongue. It obviously wasn’t the boy’s real name, but at the same time, it suited him. It felt familiar. He took it as a good sign. If he felt like he should know something, he probably _did,_ underneath BLi’s treatments. He hesitated. “This might be a weird question, but do I know you?”

Killer King grinned. “Well, Gerard… Let’s just say you remind me of a few of my famous friends.”

“Hold on,” said Pete. “Gerard, do you remember anything? We didn’t get to talk much before.”

Gerard shrugged. “I’m not sure. Sometimes I get these weird feelings, like… like something’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t say it. I’m feeling that way right now.”

“What else have you felt that way about?”

“Uh… That old BLi cartoon, Mousekat. Some other stuff. It happens pretty often, I can’t keep track of it all.” He shivered. “It happened while I was out with Bob. That’s why I got re-assigned to work with you. I think it was…” It took effort, but if he focused hard, he could drag the memory to the surface. “I think his name was Korse.”

“Like déjà vu,” said Killer, sounding awed. He nudged Pete’s arm. “Sandman, do you think--”

Pete gave him a look as if he had done something very stupid, and he shut his mouth.

“Sandman?” Gerard asked, his brow furrowing.

“Yeah,” Pete said through gritted teeth, once again glaring at Killer King. “That’s me. Forget about it, it’s nothing.”

“No, it isn’t,” said Gerard. “That’s… What did you call it?” he asked Killer. “Day something?”

“Déjà vu!” Killer said excitedly. “What, do you remember Sandman’s name?”

“Maybe,” Gerard admitted. “It definitely means something to me. It feels like…”

_An alias. No one ever went by their real name in the desert. Names had power, and in the zones, it was better if that was a power you wielded yourself. You could create your own name, reinvent yourself, and then you were free. Going by your city name would just mean BLi still owned a part of you._

“You’re a killjoy,” Gerard blurted. He didn’t know where the words came from, but he knew them in an instant to be true. Pete’s eyes widened.

“I… I don’t know,” he said cautiously. “What do you think? What would it mean if I was?”

“It would… It would be good,” said Gerard. “I don’t remember much, but killjoys seem important, in a good way. I think I’d trust you more.” He frowned. “But that doesn’t answer my question. Are you?”

Pete was silent for a moment. “I was. Before all this,” he said, gesturing to the city around them. “I’m just trying to get out of here.”

“And the other patients?” Gerard said slowly, the connections beginning to unravel. “Killer said… He said, ‘Did you take Disaster's meds.’ Disaster. Is that Gabe? Were the others killjoys, too?”

“Oooh, this is the good part,” Killer said excitedly.

Pete bit his lip. “Yeah, they were.”

“Did you know them?” asked Gerard.

“Yes.”

Gerard’s eyes widened. “Did… did you know _me?_ ”

“Ding-ding-ding!” Killer sang.

“Don’t rush it,” Pete growled. Killer sobered up a little. 

“Was I a killjoy?” Gerard said, amazed. “That’s… What? I was a fighter?” It was hard to imagine. How could he have ever fought BLi? He wasn’t strong enough for that.

Or maybe that was just what they wanted him to think. 

“So that’s what they’re trying to do,” Gerard said out loud. “That’s it, isn’t it. They take killjoys and make them normal? That’s why I can’t remember anything?” This thought was accompanied by a surge of red-hot anger. “That’s… That’s fucking terrible!”

“It is,” Pete nodded. “And that’s why we’re doing everything we can to stop it.”

“But who is ‘we?’” Gerard persisted. “What was I called, before?”

Pete shook his head. “I know you’re eager, Gerard, but I can’t tell you everything yet.”

“Why not?” Gerard demanded. “It’s my fucking past, why shouldn’t I know about it?”

“Because telling you too soon could have consequences,” Pete said, keeping his voice low. “I mean, the shock would be one thing, but I’m talking serious mental damage here. All the memories flooding back at once… It wouldn’t be good for you. A lot of things could go wrong.”

“‘Could,’” Gerard noted. “So, there’s no guarantee?”

Pete frowned. “Look, I get it, okay? I was in your situation once, too, but--”

“But you remembered and you turned out fine.”

“I got lucky,” Pete said shortly. Gerard could tell Pete’s patience was waning, and he knew he was being hasty, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so clearly. This anger, it was righteous; hot enough to burn through the fog in his mind and illuminate his true desires. He wanted to embrace it. He wanted to know who he was. He wanted to fight again, and he wanted it _now,_ even if Pete was right about it being dangerous. He needed to know before the pills changed his mind. 

“Who says I won’t get lucky, too?” he said stubbornly.

“Hey, hey,” Killer interjected. “You and Sandman got taken to the Third Eye under different circumstances, your experiences there have been different, your paths to recovery are going to end up being different. We don’t know what the Director did to you. If we say the wrong thing, we might trigger one of her weird treatments. You could get all fucked up again, maybe even worse this time.”

Gerard sighed. “But if Pete--”

“Sandman has the advantage of knowing his shit,” Killer said seriously. “He’s been playing this system for years. Even when he first got his mind back, he was able to get a lot of information. Like, we know his crew’s still alive, for one thing. We’re still trying to rescue them. That’s something constructive to work for. If he hadn’t had that--”

“Killer!” Pete said incredulously. “Now is really not the time!”

“Crew?” Gerard cocked his head to the side. A crew was… it was like a gang, he remembered. A desert family. He must have had a crew, he realized with a jolt. What had happened to them?

“You need to tell me everything,” he said. 

“No,” Pete said. His tone said _non-negotiable._ “I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to be patient and trust me. You’ll remember when you’re ready.”

Gerard paused. Then: “You sound like the Director,” he spat.

Until then, Pete had kept a perfect handle on himself. He was composed, calm; after years of hiding his emotions from BLi, he was a master at controlling them.

But Gerard had crossed a line.

“Okay,” said Pete, suddenly cold. “You want to see what happens when a killjoy finds out their identity too soon? I’ll show you what happens.”

“Sandman,” Killer said worriedly. “Pete, you can’t, he isn’t stable enough to--”

“He’s never stable,” Pete cut him off. “It’s not like seeing Gerard is going to hurt him. He can’t break any more than he already has.”

Seeing Pete angry took some of the wind from Gerard’s sails. He felt himself wilt a little, the flames surrounding his heart shrinking and cooling to a duller burn. They were manageable now. But it was too late. 

“Get Disaster some pills, just enough to keep him from withdrawal,” Pete said curtly. “I’ll check back with you sometime soon.”

He drew Killer into a tight one-armed hug, then beckoned Gerard to follow him out of the alley.

As they turned the corner, Killer called out plaintively: “Can you tell him I say hi?” It was less of a request and more of a plea.

Pete looked over his shoulder just long enough to smile sadly. “I always do.” 

Gerard and Pete turned away, and the moment was broken.

“Pete?” Gerard said timidly, still clutching the bug in his collar so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard. “Where are we going?”

“To see another old friend,” Pete said grimly.

***

It wasn’t long before their shift was over and Pete escorted Gerard back to the Third Eye. They walked straight through the lobby to the elevator, Pete punching the button for the top floor. Gerard raised his eyebrows at this choice, but said nothing. Most of the patients he’d met resided on the first few floors, or the middle ones, at the very most. He’d never even been to the higher levels. As they shot upwards, he was reminded of why-- his stomach dropped out from under him, and he winced, bracing his hand on the wall for balance.

When the doors finally opened again, Gerard bolted out so quickly he nearly crashed into the opposite wall. Pete didn’t smile. He just looked at Gerard, face blank, and motioned for him to follow.

About halfway down the hall, Pete stopped in front of a door, hesitated, and knocked. 

The door swung open, revealing a dark room.

“Ryan?” Pete said softly. “You home?”

“‘Course I’m home,” someone said from inside. Pete slipped inside. Gerard stepped after him, something crunching beneath his feet. He stopped and looked at the floor. It was covered in broken glass.

Pete sighed. “Dude, you can’t keep breaking things. They’re just going to come in and replace them, you know that.”

“Doesn’t matter. I hate having cameras in here."

Gerard looked up. The boy who had spoken was sitting on a bed, his head hanging low. Tufts of brown hair covered his eyes, but Gerard saw a smile slowly creep across his face. 

"They give me such pretty things, but they never see that diamonds are just like broken glass to me,” the boy said softly.

Pete shut the door, then sidestepped the glass and sat down next to the boy. “Ryan, I brought somebody for you to meet. This is Gerard. Gerard, this is Ryan.” He pointed to his shirt collar. Gerard took the hint, covering his own with his hand. 

“Hi,” said Ryan. Gerard couldn’t quite place it, but there was something… off about his smile. It wasn’t like a BLi employee’s, with their overly-shiny eyes. It was different. Somehow, his eyes seemed… vacant. As if he was seeing into another reality. Whatever he saw, it set a wide grin across his face, and it was nothing if not unnerving.

“Hi,” Gerard said cautiously. 

“You’re wondering why I brought you here, right?” Pete asked him. Gerard nodded. “You’ll see.” He cleared his throat. “Hey, Ryan. Why don’t you tell us about your life before you came here?”

Ryan froze. His smile slowly melted away. He still stared off into space, but now, whatever he was looking at had turned his expression to one of quiet horror. 

“I… It was… the greatest thing that’s yet to have happened,” he whispered. “I... No.” A shudder passed down his entire body. “Green Gentleman?” His hand jumped to Pete’s arm, shaking him hard. The words tripped out of his mouth faster and faster. “Sunshine, Veins. Where’d they go? They said-- no, no. I can’t. Come save me from walking off a windowsill, or I’ll sleep in the rain. He's okay, he's okay -"

“Shh,” Pete said soothingly. “Everything’s fine. Kil - uh, Sunshine says hi. He’s waiting for you to get better.”

“But it’s all wrong,” said Ryan, distressed. “I’m… losing the feeling of feeling unique. Do you know what I mean? Do you know what I’m seeing?” His eyes squeezed shut tight, and he pressed one hand to his mouth. “Shit, what did they do?”

“Hey, hey, relax," Pete said softly, wrapping one arm around Ryan’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“It seems I’m someone I’ve never met,” Ryan choked. “The pills, the pills, my _head._ I can’t fucking think. Am I the dreamer or the dream?” His hands spasmed violently, and one reached up to tug at his hair. Pete batted it away.

“Don’t do that. You’re okay. You’re okay, Ryan, just breathe. In and out, see?” Pete breathed deeply. After a moment, Ryan did the same; his breath was still shaky, but more relaxed this time. 

“Why doesn’t Sunshine ever visit?” he said, once he had stopped twitching. He brushed his bangs out of his face. With his eyes fully visible, Gerard thought he looked more lucid. “I miss him.”

Pete hesitated. “He… Well, it’s hard for him, Ryro.”

“He’s forgotten,” Ryan said sadly. “It’s been too long, he forgot what it was like to love me. Isn’t that right?”

“No,” Pete said firmly. “He doesn’t want to see you like this _because_ he loves you.”

Ryan looked away. “Who could love me? I’m out of my mind."

“It’s not like that,” said Pete. “He just can’t. If he saw you like this, he’d throw everything else out the window. He’d try to attack BLi headquarters or something and get himself killed. You’ll see each other again, but not now.”

Ryan closed his eyes, saying nothing. There was a long silence. Pete carefully removed his hand from Ryan’s shoulder, finally looking at Gerard.

“This is what happens when you find out too soon.”

Gerard looked cautiously at Ryan, who hadn’t moved a muscle. “Is he... okay?”

“He’s fine for now. You don’t have to talk around it, he can’t hear us anymore. He gets like this sometimes, just shuts down.” Pete sighed. “Unless you were talking about the bigger picture… in which case, no, he’s not okay.”

“What happened to him?”

Pete leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. “I’ve known Ryan for a long time. Back in the desert, his crew, Panic, they were friends of mine. There were four of them. Ryan… He was New Moon back then. The others were Golden Sunshine, Young Veins, and Green Gentleman. They got attacked by BLi. Young Veins and Green Gentleman died in the fight. Sunshine escaped. He changed his name to Killer King, started working as a tumbleweed.”

“Tumbleweed?” Gerard questioned. 

“It’s somebody who goes back and forth between the zones and Battery City,” said Pete. “I met up with him a while after he made his first trip into the city. And then… after that, Ryan showed up at the Third Eye.” He paused. “I was so relieved to see him alive. I rushed him. As soon as Killer and I figured out how, we snuck him away and told him everything, tried to make him remember.”

Gerard half wished Pete would stop talking. He knew how this story would end. 

“It didn’t work, obviously,” Pete said, his voice bitter. “Something in his head snapped. He hasn’t been right ever since. Sometimes he acts normal, but then he’ll start spouting poetry and freaking out. Turns out it’s not uncommon among rehabilitated killjoys. The street rats have a term for people like Ryan; they call 'em ‘zeros.’ Cause…” He tapped the side of his head. “There’s nothing left up there.”

“You think that could happen to me?” Gerard whispered.

“I’m not going to risk it. I broke one of my best friends, I can’t do that to you, too.” 

Gerard was silent.

“If you tell me to do it anyway,” Pete warned. “I swear to God, Gerard--”

“I need to know who I am!” Gerard said forcefully. “Look, I understand that it’s risky. I really do. But I’d rather be screwed up with some notion of identity than be normal and nameless. I can’t keep living like this, wondering what’s real and what’s not.”

“You don’t understand as much as you think you do,” Pete said. “Everything you’re feeling now? If things went wrong, it’d be a hundred times worse. Deep down, you don’t think it’ll really happen, but it will. Nothing can protect you from this. No power of will, not even the strongest emotion could protect you from this.”

“If love isn’t enough to put my enemies to sleep,” Ryan murmured, his eyes still closed, “then I’m putting out the lantern. Find your own way back home.”

Pete breathed a laugh. “See? Even he gets it.” He sat up, keeping a close eye on Ryan as he eased off the bed and toward the door. Ryan didn’t move. 

“I get how frustrating it is,” Pete said quietly, looking into Gerard’s eyes. “But you need to wait. Tell me that you’ll wait.”

Gerard sighed. “I can try.”

“Good.” Pete opened the door. He stepped outside, and looked at Gerard from the doorway for a long moment before finally speaking.

“You need to find your own way back home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't a fanfiction, it's just thousands of thinly-veiled lyric references
> 
> (pls comment to make my day!!)


	3. Every Heart I Left Behind That You Couldn't Break

Tara pointed to a grainy photograph. 

In it, a woman was shown, sitting hunched over with a child cradled in her arms. Her eyes were wild with fear. Beside her were more people. They were crammed into a single bunk like sardines, each of them cowering from some unseen terror. 

“This photo was taken in 1982, during the second Helium War,” Tara announced. “Bomb shelters like this one could be found in almost every city.”

“Are we onto the wars now?” Gerard asked, leaning over the table to get a better look. He had been waiting for this day for weeks. Each of his instructors had promised they would start learning about the wars soon; he was glad they were finally delivering. 

It would be interesting to see how BLi described the wars. They were a topic he hadn’t yet discussed with Pete, so he didn’t know what the true history was, but he knew BLi would twist it somehow. They would probably credit themselves with every good deed and condemn the rest as foreign influence. 

“Yes, and I know you’re excited, so I made this packet specially for you.” Tara winked. “It has all the information you could ever want. Some of it isn’t even on the curriculum, but I asked if you could learn it anyhow, and the Director encouraged me to include it. Initiative has its rewards, you see.”

_I bet all that ‘information’ is fake._

She handed Gerard a packet to look over. The first page was filled with a wall of text, which he immediately set to reading.

_”When surrounded by the modern metropolis of Battery City, it can be difficult to imagine the violence that brought about its creation. How could such a wonderful place have been born of bloodshed? The thought seems almost impossible. But when seeking to comprehend our history, we must remember: Battery City was the grand solution to a grand problem. Its current splendor only goes to show how Better Living Industries helped humanity bounce back after the dark times of the Helium Wars.”_

Every word screamed _propaganda._ BLi were obviously the ones to have written the paper; who else would have? Gerard didn’t know why he had expected subtlety.

_”In 1973, the results of a global arms race shook humanity to its core. The first Helium bomb was created by scientists from the United States of America. It was considered so dangerous that they did not test it in their home country, for fear of destroying their own population. Instead, it was deployed over the Laptev Sea in Russia, an area of low habitation. The resulting explosion and shock wave caused the death of thousands. In the face of this tragedy, the Russian people responded with aggression. New bombs were developed, and soon enough, a war the likes of which the world had never seen was tearing across the globe.”_

Gerard knew this much. He remembered it from his childhood lessons. He skipped ahead, looking for anything new. 

_”... by 1988, the second war had come to an end. Each of the global powers withdrew to confront the natural disasters that plagued them. By this time, earthquakes, tsunamis, and hurricanes had become commonplace. Later that year, an earthquake ranking 15 on the Maynard scale ripped across the Australian continent…”_

He skipped further ahead. As far as he knew, all of this was the truth. He wanted to see where the lies began.

_”The Hiroshima Accords brought an end to the third and final Helium War. The allied powers of Japan and the United States elected for their populations to be merged, and though the relocation process took years, it was ultimately a success. However, their troubles were far from over. Nuclear winter loomed ahead…”_

_”... widespread famine… innumerable casualties… radiation poisoning…”_

Gerard flipped to the last page of the packet.

_”Better Living Industries had only one opponent. The barbarians calling themselves ‘killjoys’ staged a bloody insurgence in the year 1997. A plot was discovered to lay waste to Battery City, and before the rebellion was extinguished, the savages managed to destroy two buildings. Fortunately, due to the proper training of BLi’s guards and employees, casualties were kept to a minimum. The S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W Initiative was subsequently founded…”_

Gerard shivered. He would have been a young child when the described revolt occurred. He traced the letters of the word ‘killjoy’ with his fingers, wondering how close he had been to the battle. Had he understood what was going on?

Could that have been the event that shaped his destiny, the spark that would one day inspire him to join the ranks of the killjoys?

“Is everything all right?” Tara asked. “If the description is too graphic, please let me know. It isn’t intended to upset you, only to inform.”

“No, it’s fine,” Gerard murmured. Printed beneath the text was a photo like the one Tara had first shown him. It showed a man stalking down the street, his eyes concealed by a mask. A killjoy. He brandished a ray gun toward the camera. The photo was in black and white, but Gerard could tell just by looking that the man’s outfit must have been vividly colored. His lips were pulled back into a snarl. 

BLi would have called the expression dangerous, violent, fearsome; they wouldn’t have been lying. Gerard couldn’t deny the intensity of the photograph. The killjoy’s face and hands were caked with blood; it was chilling to think of the slaughter that must have preceded the snap of the photographer’s lens. 

But Gerard would have been lying if he said it wasn’t strangely beautiful, too.

***

“It didn’t say much about killjoys, actually,” said Gerard. “It just mentioned some rebellion where they burned down a couple buildings. Apparently that’s when scarecrows became a thing.”

Pete snorted. “No. Hell no. A couple of buildings? _A couple?_ The killjoys must’ve burnt down a quarter of the city in that revolt.” He pointed out of the alley they were hiding out in. “You can see it if you walk over to the east side. A bunch of the buildings are newer than the rest. I was a motorbaby when the fight happened, so the older ones wouldn’t let me go, but they always told me about it later on.” 

Now that Pete didn’t have to conceal his history as a killjoy, he referenced it constantly. Gerard didn’t think it was intentional. Pete’s verbal filter had simply been taken away. He’d probably been thinking about it all this time, holding it back for fear of discovery, but now he had no reason to hide. Of course he would blab about it.

Gerard didn’t want to be too obvious, but he was burning to know more. 

Sometimes he almost thought he could remember the things Pete was talking about. He would have a brief moment of clarity, but then it would disappear just as quickly as it had arrived. At this point, Gerard would have settled for almost any information, even if it wasn’t his own memory. He just wanted to hear stories of the desert, of the killjoys, to delve into the details of the mysterious history he had once been a part of. 

“A motorbaby is a desert kid, right?” Gerard asked. He had to tread lightly. Every part of him was itching for further knowledge, but he couldn’t let Pete realize; he had promised not to pester him for information. 

Pete nodded. “Yeah. I was born out there. When I was young, me and…” He paused, a shadow briefly crossing his face. “Anyway. They started training scarecrows after that rebellion; some people think we shouldn’t have attacked Bat City because of it. They’re wrong, though. BLi is always trying to get stronger. They would’ve invented scarecrows eventually no matter what we did.”

“Did the scarecrows raid the desert often?” Gerard said. Pete had almost added something else, but he had caught himself. If Gerard just poked a little further… 

“In the beginning, yeah. They ghosted a lot of people before we got the upper hand again. I was too young to be fighting when they were first created, though, so I didn’t have to fight one until they had learned to be scared of us.” Pete smiled. “I was fourteen. Just about crapped myself when I saw it running towards me… I had this shitty little ray gun, it never held a charge. I would’ve died if it hadn’t been for…” 

He paused again.

“Scarecrows aren’t actually that bad, though,” said Pete, abruptly changing the subject. “You know what’s bad? Desert food. You’re lucky you don’t remember it.” 

Gerard tapped his fingers against the concrete ground. He couldn’t hide it any longer. He forced a casual tone before speaking again, looking away from Pete. “Hey… I know I said I wouldn’t bother you, but…” he hesitated. “Can you tell me more about the desert?”

Pete stiffened, and Gerard rushed to continue. “It doesn’t have to be about _me_ or anything, it can just be about you. So there’s no risk of me going zero or whatever. I mean, Killer said you were still searching for your crew, right? You’ve never even told me about th--”

“Maybe there’s a reason for that,” Pete snapped. His words cut through the air, shattering the lighthearted mood. Gerard flinched under the force on his glare.

Of course. Talking about the family he had lost probably wasn’t Pete’s favorite thing to do.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Pete muttered. “Sorry for getting mad.” 

For a minute, they were both silent. Gerard stared at the wall across from them. After a while, the white paint started to make his eyes hurt. 

“Killer should be here soon,” Pete said finally. “He said he’d meet up with us today.”

Gerard risked a glance over at Pete. “How do you guys communicate?”

“Luck, mostly. You know those mirrors we have in our rooms that tell us our schedules and stuff? Turns out they’re pretty easy to hack. Get into the code, and bam, you can replace all those words with whatever you want. That’s what Killer does. It’s a little annoying since I can’t write back, but it’s enough for us to arrange meetings.”

Gerard furrowed his brow. “Wouldn’t the writing show up on BLi’s cameras, though?”

“Nah,” said Pete. “Not in my room. I’ve got some blind spots, remember? There’s a camera built right into the mirror, but I guess they don’t think it’s necessary to have one _facing_ it. I don’t think it’d be safe for you, though, you've got more surveillance. That’s why Killer’s only sending stuff to me. But who knows? Maybe if they take some of the cams from your room, you could get in the loop.” He winked, and Gerard sensed that he was forgiven. 

A voice called out from the mouth of the alley. “Fancy seeing you here!” 

Gerard looked up to see Killer King; he was feigning shock, holding one hand to his mouth in an exaggerated pose. He could only hold the expression for a moment. It melted into a grin almost immediately, and he sauntered down to meet them. “Sandman, Gerard, how’s it hangin’?”

Pete rolled his eyes. “We’re good. Any news on Disaster Boy?”

“No, not yet. I’m working on it. I heard New Americana had a drug stash, but she got caught up in some sort of fuckin’ drama with Brooklyn Baby. I’m not gonna get into it. I’ll have the pills as soon as I can, though, I swear.”

“I know you will,” said Pete. “We just need to bring him back to normal as soon as possible. The more people we have on our side, the better.” He smiled. “Maybe we can actually start to make a difference.”

Killer laughed quietly, then looked at his feet, suddenly looking nervous. He scuffed the toes of his boots into the ground. “So… You introduced Gerard to Ryan, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question. “How’d it go?”

Pete sighed. “Exactly how I expected. He misses you, but he’s no better.”

“I miss him, too,” Killer murmured. “You told him that?”

“‘Course I did. Although, I’ve got to agree with him on one thing. It’d mean more if you said it yourself.” 

“I can’t,” said Killer. “You know I can’t. Even if I could get into the Third Eye, I just…”

“I know. I’m sorry. BLi does have a way of forcing us into situations we can’t deal with.” 

Killer coughed. “Yeah, uh… speaking of which.” He squatted down beside Gerard. “Dude. I know it sucks to not remember anything, but you understand now, right? You’ve just gotta hold on. It’ll come back to you.”

“Yeah,” Gerard mumbled. “I saw what happened, I understand.”

“No more zeroes in this crew,” Killer said sternly. “If we let _you_ lose your mind, we’d have the whole desert after our blood, so be patient for us, if you can’t do it for yourself.”

“Killer,” Pete groaned. “You’re not helping.”

“What? I didn’t say anything,” Killer said innocently.

He winked.

He was only trying to help Gerard remember, that much was clear. Gerard appreciated the effort. Any little hint could be the catalyst that would bring back his memories. 

Nothing had worked so far, but it couldn’t hurt to keep trying.

***

Gerard had never seen the Director actually look tired before.

Usually, she was like a doll, with glass eyes and a painted smile, not a blemish to be found on her porcelain skin. To imagine her appearance as anything less than flawless would be impossible. 

Gerard never would have believed it if he hadn't seen it. 

Today, there were lavender shadows beneath her eyes, and her lipstick appeared to have been applied in haste. There was a smudge of maroon at the corner of her mouth. In mannerisms she was as lively as ever, but Gerard could tell something was off.

She smiled. “It feels like such a long time has passed since we last met! Hard to believe it’s only been a few days. So much has been going on.”

_You don’t know the half of it._

“How’s Gabe doing?” Gerard asked. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Of course. He was out on an errand and went into the wrong side of town, and he caught a rather nasty bug. But he’ll make a full recovery.”

_That isn’t true._

“There’s a wrong side of town?” he asked, feigning innocence.

The Director pursed her lips. “As much as I’d like to say no, to do so would be a lie. The slums of Battery City are… unpleasant. BLi is currently working on cleaning them up. As long as you stay away from the Lobby, you’ll be fine, but straying too far from the Third Eye could be dangerous.”

Asking the Director questions was typically a bad idea, but Gerard thought this might be an acceptable situation to do so. As long as he presented himself as concerned rather than suspicious, he’d be golden. “Do you think Gabe will be coming back to the group meetings soon?”

“Oh, yes. He’ll be back in perfect condition within a few days. But please don’t pester him about this, it’s been a very upsetting experience for him. It would be best for everyone if we forgot it ever happened.” The Director’s smile returned in full force. “But enough about Gabe. This meeting is for you, Gerard. Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

Gerard shook his head. “Everything’s been going well. Pete’s nice. I kind of wish I could interact with more people, but work is still fun… I’m looking forward to graduation. Training to be a scarecrow will be really cool. It feels good that I’ll be able to help people, you know? I want to make a difference.” The lies left a sour taste in his mouth. Now that he knew what working for BLi would entail, it felt disgusting to speak the words out loud, even if they were exactly what the Director wanted to hear.

“That’s a good ambition to have. Exactly what we look for in a future BLi employee.” The Director rubbed her eyes. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but it’s a relief to see you so well-adjusted. It makes my life much easier.”

Instantly, Gerard was on the alert.

_Was that a threat? Does she know about me and Pete?_

He watched her closely.

She sighed, then straightened back up. “Well. I can see everything is as it should be, so there’s really no point in dragging this meeting out longer. I have business to attend to. I hope you have a very nice day, Gerard.” The Director stood up, smiling briefly, then swept out of the room.

Gerard looked after her in shock.

If it hadn’t been a threat, it must have been genuine. That meant she trusted his stability. He had nothing to worry about. But...

_“It makes my life much easier.”_

Something about that phrasing felt wrong. It was unlike her; it implied that she found her life otherwise difficult.

Had she willingly admitted a negative thought?

Gerard stared at the door.

Something really must have been wrong.

***

“Ta-da!” Killer sang. He shook a bottle of pills in his right hand, the contents rattling around inside. “All praise the Killer King! Not only will this keep Disaster Boy from withdrawal, it should be enough to wean him off the meds completely. _And,_ drumroll please…” He paused.

Pete rolled his eyes and patted his hands on the ground. 

“It’s enough to heal another patient, too,” Killer announced. “Who’s our lucky winner gonna be?”

“Holy shit,” said Pete, impressed. “What’d you have to trade for that?”

“Ah-ah-ah. A great con man never reveals his secrets.” Killer winked. “It took a trip to the desert, a long ass chain of trade, and my last bag of Runner’s Delight, but I think it was worth the price.”

“So, we can get two people their minds back,” said Gerard. “Gabe’s one of them, obviously… How do we choose the other?”

Killer shrugged. “That’s your problem, not mine.”

Pete sighed. “Fuck. I hate to look at this as if one person is more important than another, but we have to choose somehow. How many of the old crews are still active?”

Killer chewed his lip, looking thoughtful. “Mmm… Paramore barely exists without Scarlet. Cobra Starship fell apart, obviously, but we can fix that… The Used are still going pretty strong. Paris could probably be saved if we got White Noise back to the desert… Oh yeah!” He laughed. “Message Man is still losing his shit over Blurryface. You want to make that guy’s day? Get him his best friend back.”

Pete stared into the distance, lost in thought. “It all depends on what we prioritize. If we’re going for someone who’s easy to save, I’d vote for Scarlet. The treatments really aren’t working on her. But if we decide to bring someone back from the very edge… Yeah, Blurryface would be the best option.”

Gerard tilted his head. “Um, who is--”

“Tyler,” said Pete. “He’s not doing well. At this rate, he might even graduate before me.”

“That’s kinda funny,” Killer said cheerily. “I mean, I know all the killjoys, sure, but you know their true names. You know how much some people would pay for the info you’ve got?”

Pete snorted. “Way to show you care, Killer.”

“Just saying! I’m lucky to be in on this. Like, _Gerard?_ Who would’ve thought?” Killer giggled. “No offense, Gerard, but your other name was way cooler.”

Gerard raised an eyebrow. “How am I _not_ supposed to take offense at that?”

“You’d know what I meant if you just remembered,” Killer said dismissively. “You were a total badass.”

“Quit dropping hints,” Pete said sternly. “Seriously? I’d think you would know the rules better than anyone.”

“I do,” said Killer, sounding a touch annoyed. “But, like… this is a pretty rare situation, you’ve got to admit. I can't just act like he was your average killjoy.”

“Can we go back to the topic at hand, please?” said Pete. He grabbed the bottle of pills from Killer. “I’ll find a way to get these to Disaster and Blurryface. You work on getting more. As soon as we have enough people, I want to start working in other rehab centers. We could cure all the killjoys in the city, do you realize that? If we can get a big enough network going, it’s a real possibility.”

Killer exhaled slowly. “Man. You really want to make a project out of this, huh?” 

“Of course I do.”

“Okay. But don’t forget about Ryan,” Killer said, suddenly serious. “We had a deal. I help you find your crew, you help him recover. You’re asking a whole lot more of me now, so I need you to keep working.”

“I will,” Pete assured him. “I’ll do whatever I can.” 

“Then we’re good to go.” Killer raised his hand, and Pete slapped it in a high-five. “I’ll see you soon. Stay shiny.”

In an instant, he was darting down the alley and out of sight.

“Pete?” Gerard said cautiously. “I have a question.”

“Shoot,” said Pete.

“I know you probably can’t say yes to this, but… I’ve got to ask. What were the patients like, before BLi got to them? It’s kind of hard to stay on top of things when Killer is firing off all these names I don’t know.”

“I guess that would be confusing,” Pete muttered. “Yeah, okay. I’ll tell you. But you have to tell me if you start to… I dunno, feel weird. Deal?”

“Deal,” said Gerard, pleased. 

Pete leaned back against the wall. “Where do I even begin?” He looked up at the sky, gray with clouds and chemical fumes. “They all had crews. Or, most of them did. Travie, he was called Lazarus, he started flying solo a couple years ago. Lynn was White Noise, she ran with a crew called Paris. Spelled it with a ‘v’ instead of an ‘a’...”

Pete rattled off a list of names and crews, and Gerard tried his best to remember them all. Some felt more familiar than others, but none of them brought back any memories, so he chose not to mention the sensation to Pete. 

“And Tyler, that kid was something. He’s really young, you know that? I mean, you can tell just by looking, but he’s _really_ young. Usually, the people on BLi’s hit list are at least twenty. Killer’s nineteen, his crew were the only exceptions to that rule for a long time… But Tyler, he can’t be any older, and he’s been running the zones for years.” Pete shook his head in wonder. “And he doesn’t even have a big crew at his back, either. It’s just him and Message Man. I’ve never seen two ‘joys closer.”

“Then we have to help,” said Gerard. “He still has his whole life ahead of him. We can’t let BLi steal it.”

Pete nodded. “Exactly.” He glanced at the watch encircling his wrist. “We should probably go. We’ve got group therapy in twenty minutes.”

Gerard stood up, stretching out his limbs. “The Director said Gabe would be back soon. Maybe today’s the day?” He stuck out his hand to help Pete up. 

Pete grimaced. “If he’s back, that would mean they’ve sunk their claws back in… But I guess he would be more accessible that way. The sooner we can help him, the better.” Pete grabbed onto Gerard’s hand and pulled himself into a standing position. He grinned. 

“Let’s go. We’ve got things to do, people to save.”

“Lives to reclaim,” Gerard agreed.

Helping people felt good, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t accompanied by a twinge of jealousy.

_When will it be my turn?_

***

When Gerard stepped into the therapy room, Gabe was already seated in his usual place. That was the first red flag. He couldn’t remember a time when Gabe had arrived before him. The second red flag was the vacant smile on Tyler’s face. He was staring into space, his eyes utterly blank. Fuck. That couldn’t be good.

“Good afternoon,” piped the Director. Gerard nodded to her as he slipped into his chair.

“I have a special announcement for you all,” she announced. “Until now, we’ve had one special patient slated to graduate in the near future.” She smiled at Pete. “But as of today, that has changed!”

Gerard gave a quick look to Tyler. What had Pete said?

_”At this rate, he might even graduate before me.”_

_Shit._

Or maybe it was Gabe? After all, there had been quite a lot of focus on him lately… 

“Let’s give a round of applause for Bob!” the Director said brightly.

_Wait, what?_

Gerard joined in on the applause, but it took all his concentration not to let the confusion show on his face. Bob? The patient who had struggled for so long?

“Aww, you guys,” said Bob, embarrassed. “You don’t need to get so excited. It’ll happen to the rest of you soon enough.”

“Shut up and let us congratulate you,” said Gabe, elbowing Bob. “Why aren’t _you_ excited? You’ve wanted this for ages!”

The last time Gerard had seen Gabe, he had been gaunt and sickly-looking. His current enthusiasm made for a disturbing contrast. 

“I am excited,” said Bob. “But you don’t need to clap for me!”

“I reserve the right to clap for whoever I wish,” Gabe said stubbornly. “Just enjoy it.”

“I must agree with Gabe,” said the Director. “You’ve earned this, Bob. Allow yourself a little celebration!”

Bob hid his face in his hands, but Gerard could see him smile.

The rest of the meeting passed by in a flash. Between Gabe’s overly-shiny eyes, Bob’s happiness, and Tyler’s empty smile, Gerard couldn’t bring himself to pay too much attention.

***

Pete had barely gotten them to their usual meeting place before he exploded.

“I’m going to fucking kill him! Now there are even more people that need us, and we’re even further behind. Why? Because he couldn’t be fucking bothered to help.”

“Pete, be quiet,” Gerard hissed, pointing to Pete’s collar. Pete waved a hand dismissively.

“This shirt’s clean. It doesn’t fucking matter anyway. If _Killer King_ had decided to get his act together a little earlier, we both could’ve been out of here by now.” He pitched his voice up in a mockery of Killer. “‘It’s too risky, Sandman, we don’t know if we can even help them.’ Bullshit. That is such _bullshit!_ Yeah, what happened to Ryan was horrible. It’s our responsibility to make sure nothing like that ever happens again. But what good is it if we don’t even _try?_ We’re the only people who can help!” Pete raked a hand through his hair, then dropped to the ground, seething. 

Gerard sat down next to him. “Pete, I don’t think you can blame him.”

“I can absolutely blame him,” Pete growled. “Until you showed up, he wouldn’t do anything to help the patients. None of them but Ryan. He said it was because he didn’t want to break anyone else, but honestly? I think he just didn’t care. None of them mattered until you.”

“What? Why?” Gerard whispered. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re important,” Pete said helplessly. “You’re so fucking important, Gerard. He’s right about that. But if his logic was that we couldn’t help because it was dangerous, why’d he throw it out the window the second you showed up? Seeing you only should’ve made him more cautious. It’s like… It’s like he only got interested when he knew you were part of the picture.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true.”

Pete shrugged. “Why not? He’s a thrill seeker. I would never expect him to take it this far, but maybe he got excited at the chance to meet you. Maybe he thought you were worth more than the others. Doesn’t it seem weird that he jumped at the chance to save your life, when he’d overlooked the rest?”

“Pete,” Gerard said softly. “You’re just frustrated. Don’t take it out on Killer. Maybe seeing me just made him realize what he should have been doing all along.”

Pete rubbed a hand over his mouth, not saying anything.

“You’re right,” he said after a long pause.

He sighed. 

“Fuck it, you’re right. I’m sorry. But what are we supposed to do? We said we’d help Tyler, but Bob…”

Gerard hesitated. “This might make me sound like a terrible person, but I don’t think we can go back on what we decided. Tyler’s just a kid. He needs us. Bob can be next on our list.”

“You’re not terrible,” Pete muttered. “The situation’s terrible. I hate it. I hate having to make a ‘list.’ I’ll do it, but… giving two people the meds everyone needs is going to feel like shit.”

“I know. But it’s better than feeling nothing at all.”

***

Gerard knew Pete had slipped Gabe and Tyler their pills the moment he saw them. Tyler was more attentive, and that distant smile had vanished from his face. Gabe’s enthusiasm had lessened just enough to be noticeable. Whatever Killer had provided, it was working.

“We’re going to have to intervene soon,” said Gerard. “The Director’s going to notice them regressing.”

Pete nodded. “It’s on the agenda. Give it a few days. Until then, I’m just gonna celebrate the fact that everything seems to be going smoothly. Bob hasn’t gotten any worse, and Tyler and Gabe have both gotten better.” He grinned. “I’ve got a surprise for you. Believe it or not, the Director actually okayed it.”

“She did?” said Gerard, surprised. “What is it?”

“Well, she didn’t _really_. But she did say we could have the day off. She trusts both of us by now, and she’s got a lot on her plate. I think she just wanted to get us out of her hair.”

“She has been acting a little weird lately,” Gerard agreed.

“Yeah… I don’t want to think about why, though,” said Pete, wagging a finger. “Today is a day for fun. We don’t get a chance like this often, so I’m not going to waste it.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a wadded-up shirt, which he tossed to Gerard. “Put this on, you’ll need it. It’s bug-free.”

He pushed away from the alley wall and made for the street. Gerard looked at the shirt in his hands, perplexed, before self-consciously looking around and exchanging it for his own. Once he had changed, he went to catch up with Pete. 

“Where are we going?” he said.

“To the Lobby,” Pete said cheerfully. “It’s where all the juviehalls hang out. The rebels who live in the city, I mean. It’s great. They’ve got their own little miniature society. I haven’t visited in ages… Killer works there pretty often, I went with him last time.”

“The Director warned me about that place. If it’s really a rebel district, won’t we get in trouble for going there?” Gerard said nervously. 

“Half the cameras there are broken, and if we do get noticed, we’ll just say we got lost.” Pete guided Gerard around a corner. “It’s worth the risk, trust me. You’ll understand when we get there.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Gerard smiled and let Pete direct him around the city. In time, the white paint coating every surface began to peel. Cracks appeared in the pavement, and bright signs materialized, advertising noodle shops and… robots?

Pete saw him looking, and laughed. “Pornodroids. Don’t get too weirded out, they’re a staple around here. Most of them are actually pretty cool. It’s just, they need to make a living somehow, y’know?”

“Uh, I guess,” said Gerard. “Where exactly are you taking me?”

“Just wait,” Pete insisted. “You’ll like it, I promise.” 

Gerard had to admit, the atmosphere of the Lobby was enticing. It dazzled with color, tubes of neon blazing and reflecting from the glass of shop windows. There was a current thrumming through the air that was absent in the rest of the city. A pulse, an electricity, almost like the area had its own heartbeat. It was indescribably different from everything he could remember. Gone were the sterile halls and cool, filtered air of the Third Eye. The Lobby felt like...

It felt like someplace he couldn’t remember.

It felt something like home.

“Do you see it now?” Pete asked. Gerard nodded. “Good. We haven’t even gotten to the best part.” He continued down the street. 

Every now and then, Gerard would see a figure clad in black flit across the road, but he could never catch more than a glimpse before it disappeared. The juviehalls, as Pete had called them, were trained in the ways of the city; they melted into the shadows as if they were themselves composed of darkness. 

“How does this place operate?” Gerard wondered out loud. “Why doesn’t BLi just shut it all down?”

“Because this is something they can’t control,” said Pete. “Not even in their own city. You can’t fight freedom; you can only fight for it.”

They came to an intersection, and Pete stopped walking. “Should be right around here…” He ran ahead of Gerard and disappeared into a backstreet, then reappeared with a grin plastered across his face. “We’re here! Come on!”

Gerard followed him around the corner, and his jaw dropped. 

“Is that--”

“This is called a Rent-A-Ment,” Pete declared.

Sitting against the wall was a man whose face was barely visible behind a curtain of black hair. But Gerard barely took notice of him-- what mattered were the _instruments._ A guitar, a bass, a full set of drums. Another guitar. A microphone.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

“Pick one,” Pete said, looking pleased with himself. “Any one you want. Not the bass, though, that one’s mine.” He pulled a wad of carbons from his pocket and tossed it to the black-haired man. “We’ll only be an hour or so. That should be enough, right?”

“Yep,” the man said, sorting through the cash. “Knock yourselves out.”

Gerard looked over each of the instruments. He could feel himself gravitating toward the microphone, but they were all so tempting. The guitar was a perfect weight in his hands, all sleek curves and finely-tuned strings. “How do you get all this in the city?” he asked.

“Trade secret,” said Pete, slinging the bass over his shoulder. The instrument somehow suited him. He strummed his fingers across the thick strings, closing his eyes as the sound reverberated out through the air. 

Gerard grabbed the guitar. “I’m taking this one.”

He sat down on an amplifier. To his surprise, his fingers fell naturally across the frets-- they remembered what to do, even if he didn’t. He held down a string and plucked out a long, high note.

His hands needed no direction. Slowly but surely, they played out a familiar melody, a pattern developing without any conscious action on Gerard’s part. Something about it made his heart beat faster. The music felt like adrenaline, like shouts of joy and pure energy. He was smiling before he knew it. 

_Drugs, gimme drugs, gimme drugs--_

Something flickered in his mind, but, as usual, vanished before he could catch hold of it.

The man who had been leaning back against the wall sat up straight at the sound of Gerard’s playing. He swept the hair from his face, giving Gerard a long, hard look, then turning to Pete.

“You warned me he was coming, but I thought you said he had no memories.”

“He doesn't. Muscle memory’s a different story,” Pete cautioned. “Just let him play.”

Gerard ignored them both. He was off in another world, the music swirling all around him and wiping away any trace of thought. It felt _right._ This was how things were supposed to be… 

But something was still missing.

Gerard hummed to himself as he played. He felt the melody change; this song was different, softer. The gentle rhythm spoke of something bittersweet. It felt like sunlight, like breathing in fresh air. He didn’t know where it came from, but for once, he didn’t try to chase it. He just let it come to him. Soon, the notes became words, and he found himself singing. 

Each lyric came easy, and the chords along with them. A powerful feeling gripped his chest. He didn’t know what it was, but he didn't want it to stop.

“Turn my headphones up real loud… I don’t think I need them now, ‘cause you stopped the noise, and…”

_They were driving down the road, the sun beating down on the roof of the car. A girl leaned out the window, yelling at the top of her lungs. It was joy made audible, the sound of pure, unadulterated bliss. Gerard smiled as he glanced into the rear-view mirror._

“If you stay, I would even wait all night…”

_Through the doorway, Gerard could see a dark-haired man leaning over a guitar, his eyes narrowed with concentration. His fingers made frenzied movements across the frets, the ink etched into his skin almost blurring with the speed of his playing._

_Gerard knocked on the open door._

_The man stopped in an instant. The smile on his face as he looked up was contagious. Gerard raised his eyebrows, grinning as he looked at the guitar. The man rolled his eyes. They had their own sort of communication; words weren’t necessary to convey meaning. Gerard stepped forward, and the two fell into each other through sheer force of habit…_

“Or until my heart explodes.”

_They sat huddled around a fire, the man with bleach-blond hair making a face as he stuck a fork into a can. Gerard was laughing at him. The girl fiddled with a handheld machine, the screen illuminating her face in the darkness. Her eyes were beginning to droop. It was late, after all, and she was just a kid. She needed rest more than any of them._

_The one with the afro exchanged a look with Gerard, then laid a hand on her shoulder._

_When she finally drifted off to sleep, they made a protective circle around her. Through the night, they would take shifts guarding each other, alternating between sleep and alertness. They would always protect each other._

_The world was such a dangerous place, but Gerard never felt safer than he did when he was with them._

“How long until we find our way, in the dark and out of harm?…”

_They were running, running, running. Always running. Away from BLi, away from the world. They followed the shifting sands and rode with the wind, letting it carry them far away from everything they had once known. It wasn’t a bad life. It was free. As long as they had each other, they could fall right off the edge of the earth, and everything would turn out okay._

“You can run away with me any time you want.”

_Gerard still remembered when he’d left the city. He remembered when he’d changed his name. He had given up his old life, and a new one was forged through change, transforming uncertainty into identity, volatility into routine. Each life-changing moment was a marker on his timeline. The moments in which he met his new family. The moment he stepped onstage for the first time. The moment when he finally realized he wasn’t alone. The moment when the dark-haired one took his hand, and they both realized what they had really wanted all along._

_And then the moment it all fell apart._

Gerard was suddenly aware of the tears welling in the corners of his eyes.

He stopped playing. The music was cut off, but the feeling of familiarity lingered. His memories were close, so close… Just beyond his reach. 

He was left with an ache in his chest that defied description. He strummed the guitar once more, and it lessened the feeling, but just barely. Mostly, it reminded him of what he couldn’t have.

“Hey. You wanna head back?” Pete said gently.

Gerard nodded.

***

After that day, something seemed to change. In front of the Director, Pete was as agreeable as ever, but behind the scenes, he grew more and more disobedient. His meetings with Killer and Gerard became more frequent. Each time, he added more detail to the plan that was beginning to take form.

“We’re going to have to break out someday,” he said. “That day’s getting closer. I can feel it.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Killer said with a smirk. “You’ve still got your holy mission to complete.” He tossed Pete a fresh bottle of pills. “Here, give these to whoever you deem worthy.”

Pete popped the cap off, inspecting the contents. “This is more than last time. How many people can we use these on?”

“Three at the very most, but I’d go with two, just to be safe.”

Gerard and Pete looked at each other.

“Bob,” said Gerard.

“Definitely,” said Pete. “And... I’m thinking Hayley.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Pete bit his lip. “That leaves Travie, William and Lynn… They're all doing pretty well, by our standards. They won’t be slated to graduate any time soon. They can afford to wait. And after that...” 

“Give me a time estimate,” said Killer. “An escape of this size ain’t gonna be low-profile. You’ll need backup, hell, you’ll need weapons. And,” he said, jabbing a finger at Pete, “you’ll be owing me extra once I get you out of this shithole.”

Pete shrugged. “That’s fair.”

“One more thing.” Killer hesitated. “I’ve got a condition. So far, all I’ve asked of you is that you help Ryan. If you leave the Third Eye, you won’t be able to keep your end of the deal. You have to take him with you.”

Pete stiffened. “Killer, we don’t know what he’ll do--”

“Please,” said Killer. His desperation was tangible. “I haven’t seen him in years. Please, Sandman, I need you to do this.”

_They haven’t seen each other in years?_

_Maybe that’s why he still thinks there’s hope._

Pete took a deep breath. “Killer… Fuck. Brendon, I can’t do that.”

_Brendon?_

“You have to,” Killer said stubbornly. “You fucking promised me you would help him. After all I’ve done for you, you can’t back out now.”

Pete looked at him for a long moment.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll do it.” Killer’s face lit up, and Gerard could suddenly see just how young he was. 

“You will? Thank you!”

“I’d tell you that you owe me, but that’s kind of the opposite of how this works,” Pete laughed. “So, a time estimate. Disaster and Blurryface are going great… I’ll give them, hmm, three days before I have a talk with them. I’ll take them to see you afterwards. Their recoveries took about two weeks each, so… Another two weeks for Noise Control and Scarlet Starlet, then two for Lazarus and White Noise.”

“But if I get you meds for Lazarus and White Noise soon enough,” Killer said, wiggling his eyebrows, “we could be blasting this place to bits in less than a month.”

“No,” Pete said sternly. “Nobody will be blasting anything. We’re going to keep the casualties to a minimum. The point is to save these people, not get them killed in a battle.”

“But don’t you want to make a spectacle of it?” Killer said dreamily. “Go out guns blazin’?”

“That’s exactly the opposite of what we want,” Pete said, exasperated. “If we’re going to try and pull this operation off again in other rehab centers, we don’t want BLi scouring the city for us, stupid. This obviously won’t be subtle, but we do need to keep it to the lowest possible level of destruction.”

“Speaking of which! I’ve been scouting around for our next base of operations. There’s a place on the west end of the city, called the Crystal Ball, it looks pretty eligible, if you know what I’m sayin’.”

Gerard’s nose wrinkled. “Jesus. What is it with BLi’s obsession with psychic metaphors?”

“‘To build one’s future, one must envision the future,’” Killer quoted. “‘One must be aware that their actions have consequences in order to forge their Better Tomorrow.’”

Gerard clamped his hands over his ears, and Pete a face. “Don’t quote that shit! It’s weird,” Gerard protested. 

Killer rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You wouldn’t be calling me weird if you knew I had a present for you...” He let his words hang on the air.

Pete surrendered first. “Okay, fine. What’s the present?” 

Killer pulled a can from within his jacket, shaking it vigorously. “Where’s the nearest blank spot? Oh, yeah. Everywhere.” He stood back a few feet, then pressed down on the nozzle of the can. A jet of red paint shot out, coating the alley wall with scarlet. Gerard watched in awe as Killer carefully sprayed out a string of letters.

_”I’M TAKING BACK THE CROWN.”_

“Killer,” Pete groaned. “They’ll have their eyes on this place once they see that, we’ll have to find a new meeting spot!” But he was laughing as he snatched the paint from Killer, eager to make his own mark.

“Put on your war paint,” he said slowly, speaking each word as he painted it onto the wall.

He then passed the can to Gerard, who stood back, examining the tags Killer and Pete had left.

They each had their own distinctive style. Pete’s lettering was sharp and messy; Killer’s was bolder, a thick layer of paint that dripped down the wall. What would Gerard’s style be?

“I don’t know what to write,” he admitted.

Pete smiled. “You sure about that?”

Gerard looked at him questioningly, but raised the can anyhow. 

Before he could think twice, he found himself spraying out the words “make some noise.” 

Killer let out a low whistle.

“Wow,” Gerard said, surprised. “That looks… pretty awesome.”

“Fuckin’ shiny,” Pete agreed. He raised his palm to give Gerard a high five.

Gerard just stood, transfixed by the words he had written.

***

When Gabe showed up late to group therapy, Gerard knew he and Pete would have to step in.

The group sessions had become much more interesting than they used to be. Instead of listening to each patient deliver the same old spiel, Gerard paid close attention to what they were saying. Even the simplest of phrases held greater meaning. 

“I’m doing fine,” said Bob. Just “fine.” Not “good,” not “great,” not any of the positive adjectives he’d typically use. Gerard shot a pleased look at Pete. 

Funnily enough, the Director didn’t even seem to notice the gradual change in her subjects. She nodded and smiled through it all, but the shadows beneath her eyes still were still present. She seemed distracted by something. 

But distraction didn’t equate to stupidity. Gabe’s regression was growing entirely obvious, and if you looked a little closer, Tyler’s was, too-- she was sure to notice soon. As the patients filed out of the therapy room, Gerard and Pete gravitated directly to Gabe and Tyler.

“Hey,” Pete said cheerfully. “Do you guys wanna hang out with us today?”

Tyler pointed to himself, looking confused.

“Me?” said Gabe, equally puzzled. “Sure.”

“Great!” said Gerard. “Just follow us.”

Gabe and Tyler trailed after them as they went up to Pete’s room. Pete ushered them inside, then slammed the door.

“Good news,” he said to Gerard. “Killer got his hands on a signal jammer. As long as we’re in this room, the bugs won’t work, and the cameras are looped.”

“Good,” said Gerard, while at the same time, Tyler said, “What?”

Pete sat down on the edge of his bed, folding his hands neatly in his lap. He stared directly at Tyler and Gabe. “I’m gonna get straight to the point. Your meds aren’t working anymore. Isn’t that right?”

“W-what?” Tyler stammered. “Of course they are!”

“Yeah, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gabe said with a nervous laugh. “I just got sick. It didn’t have anything to do with pills. And I’m better now, anyway.”

Pete rolled his eyes. “It had everything to do with pills. I don’t know what they told you, but here’s what really happened: you went off your meds and then went through withdrawal. They got you back, but now things are different. Now you’re starting to _feel_ a little more than you used to. Starting to _question_ things. Am I right, or am I right?”

Gabe’s face went white. “There’s nothing wrong with me. If the Director put you up to this, then--”

Pete laughed out loud. “The Director? Hell no. If she knew about this, I’d probably be dead.” He quieted down. “Gabe, I’m in the same boat as you. I’ve just chosen to embrace it.”

“Y-you’re rebelling?” Tyler squeaked. He made a move towards the door, but Gerard jumped in his way.

“Can’t let you do that. Sorry.”

“Here’s something you need to learn,” said Pete. “BLi isn’t as heroic as it makes itself out to be. Feelings aren’t a bad thing. Actually, they’re what makes life worth living. BLi is trying to make you into zombies. They steal your free will, feed you lies disguised as the truth, and turn you into a person you’re not. Haven’t you ever thought it was just a _little_ weird that none of us remember our pasts?”

“The Director’s gonna be so mad when she hears about this,” Tyler whimpered. He glanced at the door again, but shied away from the look Gerard gave him. “What do you want from us?”

“I want you to calm down and give me a chance, for starters,” Pete sighed. “And then… I want you to start thinking. Forget about BLi, just go with what feels right. Have you ever felt like you’re missing something? Have you ever felt like parts of you are locked away? I want you to find them, and if you catch them, don’t let go.”

“I… I thought I was going crazy,” Gabe whispered.

Pete smiled. “That’s what they want you to think. It feels scary, right? Makes you want to ask for help?”

“Yeah.”

“But you never asked for help, did you?” Gabe shook his head. “Why not?”

“Because… it didn’t feel right, I guess.”

Pete pointed at Gabe. “Bingo. That’s what you need to start doing. Let your instincts take control. Gabe, there’s a whole world in your head that’s just waiting to be rediscovered. And…” Pete looked at Tyler. “If _you_ don’t feel like you’re missing something, some _one,_ then they’ve broken you worse than I thought was possible. Tell me. Do you really believe everything the Director’s ever said?”

Tyler drew a shaky breath, avoiding eye contact with anyone. “I…” 

“It’s okay,” Gerard said gently. “You’re safe here.”

“I don’t… believe everything,” Tyler whispered. “She said I was born in the city.” He swallowed hard. “I d-don’t think that’s true.” He glanced fearfully around the room, as if draculoids could burst through the walls at any moment.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Pete cautioned. “But that’s good. That’s really good, Tyler.”

Gabe crossed his arms over his chest. “So… why are you telling us all this? How did you know what’s going on in our heads?”

Pete shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because we caused it?”

Gabe looked alarmed. “What?”

“We’re taking you off BLi’s pills,” Pete explained. “It’s a slightly weaker dosage that loses its potency over time. Once you’re fully recovered, you’ll have full control over your thoughts again.”

“And the Director won’t notice?” Gabe said skeptically.

“You’ll just have to act. That’s what we’ve been doing for a long time,” said Pete, motioning to Gerard. “And it won’t be for long. We’re hoping we can get most of the patients here off the drugs, then make an escape somehow.”

“And I know that sounds dangerous,” Gerard cut in. “Your little addictions are telling you to report this to the Director, right? I know what it’s like. They still control part of you. But not all of you-- don’t you find this exciting, deep down somewhere?”

“I… yeah,” Gabe admitted. Tyler murmured in assent. “So, uh… What are we supposed to do now?”

Pete grinned. “I’m so glad you asked.” He stood up, and Gerard could see a motivational speech coming in the way his eyes shone. 

“First of all, this meeting, and all those that come after, are a secret. You take this to your grave.”

***

“Hey, Pete?” said Gerard.

Pete looked up from his tablet. He was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, Gerard lying a few feet away from him. “Yeah?”

“Are they gonna meet Ryan?”

He didn’t need to specify who he was referring to. Tyler and Gabe had gradually become part of their circle. In a few days, the two would be fully off their medications. They didn’t always come to meet with Killer King, but they came often enough to be considered true and proper rebels. Maybe even often enough to discover the dark side of recovery. 

Pete grimaced. “I don’t know. Gabe’s been asking questions… He’s gonna get impatient soon, I can tell. He and Tyler both. They’re going to want to know who they were… I don’t know what to say to them.”

“If Ryan’s escaping with us, they’ll need to meet him eventually,” said Gerard. “I’d do it sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah. I know what I _should_ do, but… Tyler’s so fragile. Sometimes I wonder if he’s going to end up reporting us.”

Gerard rolled his eyes. “He wouldn’t. Just because it took him longer to accept this way of life doesn’t mean he’ll turn his back on it.”

Pete hummed in agreement. “I sure hope so.” His eyes returned to his tablet for a brief moment. “Hey, we’ve still got a good chunk of free time left in our schedule. Wanna head out to the Rent-A-Ment?”

Gerard felt the smile pop onto his face in an instant. “Can we?”

“Yeah!” said Pete, relieved. “I’ve been wanting to go back for ages, but I didn’t want to go without you... And I didn’t know how you’d handle it after, y’know, last time.”

“I think it’ll be easier now,” said Gerard. He didn’t have any real reason to think that way, but he didn’t care. He was itching to get his hands on an instrument. Nothing could be more important than getting to play music again, not even the complicated emotions that doing so brought on. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Like, a _lot._ ” He paused. “Is it weird that I’m considering writing music?”

Pete jumped up, looking delighted. “Weird? That’s awesome! You have to play it for me, come on, let’s go!”

Gerard pushed himself up, laughing as Pete rushed to the door. “Should we take Gabe and Tyler?”

“Nah, not yet. Soon, though.” 

They headed straight to the lobby, Pete feeding the guards some story about taking a walk. In a few minutes, they were walking down the street, and in a few minutes more, Pete was greeting the man in charge of the Rent-A-Ment.

“Trophy Son, what’s up? I’ll take my usual. Gerard, you gonna go for the guitar?” Gerard nodded. “Sweet. We’ll book ‘em for, hmm… Let’s go with an hour.” Pete smoothed out a stack of carbons and passed them to Trophy Son, who blew his bangs out of his face to look them over. He nodded with approval, and Pete grabbed the bass with no hesitation.

Gerard moved to the guitar a little more slowly. He sat down on an amp beside Pete, and began strumming out single notes, trying to translate the melodies in his head into movements.

“So,” he said as he worked. “I’ve got a lot of ideas running through my head. I don’t know how good any of it is, and I can’t really… Fuck. I can’t play it yet, obviously, but there are a few songs I’ve been working on, I guess?” The last bit came out like a question. Pete grinned.

“Dude, that’s awesome. Tell me about ‘em!”

“Um, I think I’m gonna call the first one Action Cat. It’s kind of about everything that’s happened.” Gerard gestured to the city around them. “I’ve got this vision where the guitar could be, like, really distorted, but I don’t know how to make it sound like that.”

“You’d need gear we don’t have,” Pete said, looking a little disappointed. “But I’m sure it’ll sound good anyway. Are you okay singing it?”

“I guess.” Gerard took a deep breath, steadying his hands on the guitar. Even if he couldn’t play it, it was nice to have something to hold on to, instead of just sitting there. 

“It starts out like, ‘We want television bodies that we can’t keep… we have battles in the dark when she falls asleep. We can make it up again, but we don’t care, we just pretend…’” He smiled at the ground. It was a little weird, singing with no music, but it felt good. He glanced up at Pete, letting his voice return to its normal pitch. “Uh, that one’s not done yet, but there’s another one, if you wanna hear?”

Pete nodded for him to continue.

“It’s called No Shows. It’s about, like… we don’t have concerts in the city. This place isn’t like the desert. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have music, or that you can’t rebel, right? You don’t need the lights, you don’t need the stage, you don’t need the band playing in front of you, you just need another person to connect with. It’s all about a connection to another human being, or whatever. That’s better than any rock band, that’s better than any show, than any… than any happening. Like, you can have your own happening. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense,” said Pete. “You’ve gotten pretty damn profound, you know that?.”

“Shut up,” said Gerard, grinning. “Do you want to hear it?”

“Fuck yeah!”

“Okay, so…” Singing was a little easier once Gerard got used to it. His voice steadied, and he could feel the melody guiding him, until the words came out effortlessly. “Been weeks I been livin’ and your smiles are givin’ me all types of treble… Weak knees I been given and those nights are makin’ me star-struck and metal. Stay free, don’t go… ‘Cause we don’t need no shows.”

Pete suppressed a laugh, and Gerard quickly stopped. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just… different,” Pete giggled. “Good different. It’s just that, your old stuff was, uh... middle-fingers-up, fuck-you, spit-in-your-face rock. This is like, softer. More of a subtle dig at BLi buried under fuzz rock.” 

“And that’s a good thing?” Gerard said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah! I like it.” Pete paused. “Do you… want to hear some of my old stuff?” He was suddenly serious. Gerard’s eyes widened.

“Music you made with your crew?”

“Yeah.”

“Absolutely. I mean, if you’re comfortable playing it.”

“Yeah. It’s fine.” Pete kept his eyes fixed to the ground. He plucked out a bassline with the utmost care, as if every note carried an indispensable meaning. It was clearly important to him, and Gerard could see why; it was a damn good melody, and the memories that accompanied it must have been intense. He could practically see a crowd of killjoys dancing along as Pete played from a desert stage. 

“The music won’t sound right without a singer, sorry. I’d need the rest of my crew to make it sound the way it’s supposed to,” Pete said quietly. He didn’t stop playing. “You can’t play songs from the Suitehearts with only one of ‘em.”

Gerard didn’t say anything. Pete had never divulged any details about his crew before, and Gerard wasn’t about to interrupt him and break the spell.

After a moment, Pete continued. “Our singer, his name was Benzedrine. He was… fuck. He was amazing. The politest zone rat I’ve ever met. And a voice like an angel’s, I mean, damn. There are a lot of singers out there, but nobody could hold a candle to him. He would write all these crazy songs… It was like he had an endless supply of tunes stuck in his head. He’d do the melodies, I’d do the lyrics, and we’d go onstage with the others in our stupid fucking outfits, god, I loved those.

“Horseshoe Crab was our guitarist. A bit of a stoner, but smart as hell. Our shows were like a contest of who could get the most hyped. He would spin around like crazy, and I would jump all over the place. One time I hit Benzedrine in the face when I was trying to spin my bass around.” He laughed out loud. “And you know what? He didn’t even fall. He got knocked out, but when he came to, he was still singing. Got a scar from it. 

“And then Donnie the Catcher, he was our drummer. Quiet dude. He was covered in tattoos, I mean, _covered._ He had a few piercings on him, too. And he was sort of ripped. If you didn’t know him, he was really intimidating. But it was funny ‘cause we were all midgets, and the second Donnie opened his mouth, his voice was this little fucking squeak.” Pete laughed again, but the sound caught in his throat. Gerard pretended not to see as he swiped a hand over his eyes.

“And that was it. The four of us, ride or die.” Pete’s smile faded. “There was this village in Zone 5, we’d stay there sometimes. When BLi found it, they… they blew it sky high.” He laughed again, but it was forced this time, a short, cold sound. “We were there when it happened. So much dust… When it cleared, a few people had survived. Donnie and Horseshoe made it, thank the Sand and Sun. But…”

“No,” Gerard whispered.

“Benzedrine was gone,” Pete said bitterly. “Not dead. Just vanished. BLi took him, we knew it as soon as we started looking for him.”

Gerard blinked. For just a moment--

_”Tragedy has struck Zone 5, motorbabies. They’ll be talking about this one for years. It’s a massacre like you’ve never seen; I’d avoid the area if you don’t have a strong stomach. Pony tells me eleven were killed, three injured, and on top of it all, the whereabouts of one Dr. Benzedrine are yet unknown. Keep an eye out for ol’ blue eyes. In the meantime, let’s hear it for the Suitehearts.”_

The words ran through his head in an instant, evaporating before he could process them.

“We headed straight for the city,” said Pete. “Followed their trucks. But we got ambushed. All of us were taken away, and I don’t know how much time passed before I finally found myself again.”

Gerard hesitated. “Then… If you were in the Third Eye, and you still haven’t found Donnie and Horseshoe, how do you know what happened to them? How can you be sure they’re alive?”

“I didn’t, not immediately.” Pete grimaced. “It was the worst pain I’ve ever felt. I almost started to believe in what BLi was saying, almost started to depend on the pills emotionally as well as chemically… But Killer found me just in time, he fixed me up. He’d heard whispers on the streets about my friends, which was enough to keep me going, and I was able to keep _him_ going until… until Ryan showed up. We kind of fixed each other. We were in the same boat, you know?”

“Yeah,” Gerard murmured. “Thank you for telling me.”

Pete looked away. “It’s nothin’. You deserved to know, and it’s not like any of it’s a secret. It’s just… hard.” He went quiet for a minute, strumming out bass notes to take the place of words. “I guess it’s sort of nice to talk about it, though. We… We were born out in the desert, all four of us. We started getting into the music scene when we were teenagers. Benzedrine wanted to be a drummer at first--”

He was interrupted by a shout from the end of the alley. Gerard looked up. 

“Sandman!”

Killer ran toward them at top speed. His face was white as a sheet. He skidded to a halt in front of Pete, doubling over as he gasped for breath. “I thought you might be here, thank fuck I was right. There’s something you need to see. Now.”

“What’s wrong?” Pete said sharply. He lowered his bass, setting it on the ground. “What happened?”

“The Crystal Ball Center. I was scouting it out and I found something, something big. You need to come back with me. But he can’t come with us.” Killer pointed to Gerard.

Gerard was on edge in an instant. “Why, what’s going on?” he demanded.

“It’s too dangerous,” Killer snapped. “I’m all for you regaining your memories, but this is--”

“Wait, _what?_ ” Gerard stood up, eyes blazing. “Does this have something to do with me?”

“If it does, it’s not your place to know. Sandman, we should get going.”

“I can’t just leave him here!” Pete argued. “What would I say to the Director?”

“I don’t fucking know! Figure something out, you always do!”

Pete made a noise of frustration, raking his fingers through his hair. “I can’t just up and leave if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

Killer stared at him, eyes wide. “Don’t you get it? It’s him, Sandman. I found him.”

“Who?” 

Killer jerked his head at Gerard. Pete looked confused for a second, then something seemed to dawn on him.

“Oh. _Oh._ Shit, you’re right. Gerard, I’m sorry, but we need to--”

“What, leave me here?” Gerard said angrily. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on? I’m sick of waiting. Do you know how close my memories have been lately? I’m almost there-- this could be the push I need!” 

“Or it could push you right over the edge,” Pete retorted.

Gerard threw up his hands. “So what?” Killer’s obstinacy had sparked something within him, a fury that burned quick and hot. He couldn’t contain it. He was tired and frustrated and god damn it, he didn’t want to wait anymore. 

“I’m _so tired_ of watching and waiting. I don’t want to just sit here if everything goes Costa Rica! This is my past, it’s _my_ business, and if I want to risk my sanity for it, I fucking will,” he snarled. He jabbed a finger into Pete’s chest. “It’s not your job to protect me. Not anymore. I am _done_ with this place, and I’m going to do something about it.” His voice lowered dangerously. “Just you fucking try and stop me.”

“Wait... Where did you hear 'Costa Rica?'” Killer said slowly. "I don't remember telling you what that means."

Pete looked Gerard over, chewing his lip. 

“I’ve never seen you get pissed like that,” he said finally. “Not _you_ you. That was more like--”

“Old you,” Killer finished.

Killer and Pete glanced at each other.

“Fuck it, you’re coming with us,” said Killer, grabbing onto Gerard’s shoulder. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

And just like that, they were running. Gerard’s heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins like an electric current. His feet pounded against the ground. He didn’t know where they were going; he just let Killer lead the way, running until his lungs burned in protest. Nothing could stop him now. He was running towards his future and his past all at once, and it only made him want to go faster. 

“This way!”

Killer turned a corner, winding through the streets so quickly that Pete and Gerard could barely keep up. He glanced back once every few blocks, making sure they were still in sight. “Hurry up!” 

“Not all of us are human rocket boosters like you, Killer King!” Pete wheezed. “Slow the fuck down!”

“No!” Killer took off again. Beneath his serious attitude, Gerard could detect a layer of excitement. He truly was a thrill seeker. He led them across what felt like half the city before his place slowed to a jog, finally stopping a street corner. Pete and Gerard staggered up to him.

“There,” he whispered, pointing across the street. 

Before them was a building almost identical to the Third Eye. It stretched up as far as the eye could see, all white paint and rectangular windows. 

Killer let them look for a moment before shaking himself. “Okay. Just a little further…”

“I thought we had already reached our destination,” Gerard said weakly.

“Our destination ain’t a place,” said Killer. “It’s a person.”

He led Pete and Gerard down the street, slower this time. It was only a few blocks before he flung out his arm. “Stop here,” he whispered. “Do you see?”

“Oh shit,” Pete breathed. “It really is him.”

“Where?” said Gerard, looking all around. Pete pointed down the street. Sitting on a bench not far away was a man dressed in white, writing something on a sheet of paper. He didn’t look up. 

Gerard stepped closer, as if in a trance.

“Gerard,” Pete said quietly. “Careful.”

“I…” Gerard squinted. “I don’t get it.” He kept walking, slowly drawing closer to the man. “Who is that?”

He took another step. The man had short dark hair, but for some reason, Gerard thought it should have been longer. It should have hung at his shoulders. The white was wrong, too, he would never wear white. He had that army vest he liked; he would always make jokes about how rugged it made him look. He wasn’t wrong. But he was never just rugged, he was fucking beautiful, with those hazel eyes and--

“Fuck,” Gerard whispered. 

His knees buckled in an instant.

_The draculoid fell, and he blew a puff of smoke from the end of his ray gun. The Girl laughed as she ran up to hug him. They’d won; they always won. He smiled, ruffling a hand through her curly hair. “What’s up, kid? How’s your kill count?”_

_”I got two,” she said proudly._

_”I helped her,” Kobra said in a stage whisper. She pouted._

_”I’m the one who shot them, though!”_

_And then they were sitting in the diner, Jet Star doubled over with laughter. “You didn’t!”_

_”I did,” Gerard said casually. “Two pounds of glitter, right in the face.”_

_”You know how much Chow Mein loves his suits,” Kobra groaned. “We’ll be scrounging for food for weeks thanks to you.”_

_”That may be true, but it the look on his face was worth it.”_

_Then they were onstage, and the pure excitement of it all was making his head spin. There wasn’t any room for thinking. He grabbed a fistful of Ghoul’s hair, and then their mouths were smashing together, hot and sweaty and electric and_ perfect, _and Ghoul was clinging to his hip as if both their lives would end if they ever stopped kissing. The crowd cheered. In a moment, he shoved Ghoul away, screaming into the microphone, but he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face._

_He never asked if it had meant the same thing to Ghoul as it had to him. He could almost have forgotten it, if it hadn’t been for the way Ghoul’s eyes always seemed to linger afterwards; at Gerard’s hands, his face, his mouth. He didn’t want to ask, but he needed to, fuck, he needed to know._

_And then they were sitting on the roof of the Trans Am, pointing up at the night sky, black as ink._

_”That’s where the stars would be,” said Gerard._

_”What happened to them all?” the Girl wondered out loud._

_”Pollution,” said Jet. He always had the answers. “The air got clouded up from BLi’s chemicals, so you can’t see them anymore. The only things left are satellites.”_

_”That’s stupid,” she grumbled. “I want to see them, they sound pretty.”_

_”They were pretty,” Kobra said wistfully. “Fuckin’ amazing.”_

_”I don’t like BLi. Why can’t they just leave us alone?”_

_”Kid, if we knew that, we wouldn’t be fighting so hard,” said Gerard._

_He stared up at the sky, imagining stars hidden behind the smog, dots of light pricking through the blackness like fireflies._

_And then they were inside. Kobra and Jet were gone; they’d taken the Girl with them, both of them giving Gerard a long look as they walked out the door. They were giving him a chance, and he knew it._

_Ghoul was sitting next to him, using one hand to sketch out a drawing of a ghost. The other hand was curled in Gerard’s._

_Fuck._

_”Hey, Ghoul?” said Gerard._

_”Yeah?” Ghoul didn’t look up from his drawing._

_Gerard swallowed. For some reason, his heart was pounding as if he’d just escaped a horde of dracs. “I have to ask you something.” His grip on Ghoul’s hand tightened. No matter how hard he tried to hide his nerves, he knew they were painfully obvious. “It’s about… um, us, I guess.” Ghoul finally looked up. Gerard licked his lips, wishing his breathing was less heavy. “Are you… Is this… I mean, do you--”_

_”Party Poison,” Ghoul interrupted. “You absolute fucking idiot.” He climbed into Poison’s lap, cupping his jaw before roughly pressing their lips together. The kiss was hard and wanting, and though it was far too brief, it had them both gasping before Ghoul came up for air. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to get your shit together?” he demanded. Before Poison could answer, they were kissing again, Ghoul’s fingers tangling in his fiery red hair. “Yes,” he said, quieter this time. “I want you, I want this. Of course I do. I always have, you stupid piece of fuck.”_

_Poison grinned, his hands settling at Ghoul’s hips. “Oh. Good. I mean, me too. Obviously.”_

_”Shut up and kiss me,” Ghoul mumbled. “Fuckin’ idiot.”_

_His name was Fun Ghoul._

_They were Fun Ghoul and Party Poison, and they were unstoppable. With Jet Star, Kobra Kid, and the Girl, they made a family. They were a fucked up family, sure, but you could never find anything less in their world. They were the best Poison ever could have found. They were the best, and…_

_And Kobra Kid was dead._

_And Jet Star was dead._

_And the Girl was gone, and Poison wasn’t Poison anymore, and Ghoul wasn’t Ghoul, but he was_ right there. _They were so close._

“Gerard? Gerard, snap out of it!”

Pete’s voice was frantic. He wasn’t Pete, though, he was Sandman. Poison remembered Sandman. He was the one with the pink hair and the bandana, the one who rode with the Suitehearts. The Suitehearts were a good bunch. Poison had missed their shows after they vanished.

“I swear to fuck, if you choose now to go zero on us--”

Someone grabbed onto his shoulder and shook him hard. Not Pete. “Gerard, you’ve gotta snap out of it, come on, man--”

That one was Killer King. Poison remembered him, too. Poor kid. He’d been, what, sixteen when his crew died? 

“Gerard!”

“That’s not my name,” he murmured.

Killer stopped shaking him.

“I’m…” He took a deep breath, lifting his head to take in the scene around him with new eyes.

“My name is Party Poison.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few notes!
> 
> 1\. the helium wars. the way i see it, they would have been destructive enough to cause nuclear winter, and since temperatures in the killjoy universe don't seem to be very low (hell, they're _hot,_ ) that means at least twenty years would have to have passed since the end of the wars. in this fic, WW2 never happened, just the helium wars. if you have any questions feel free to ask! it's not really relevant to the story, just some background info.
> 
> 2\. the characters of this fic are not the same ages as the irl band members. they're younger. all the age differences are the same, though-- at this point, gerard is 29, pete is 27, and brendon is 19.
> 
> 3\. my headcanon of the suitehearts' designs: http://askfvnghoul.tumblr.com/post/149252143662/oh-so-you-know-the-clandestine-guys-or-the
> 
> 4\. i borrow a few headcanons from personalized_radio's firefight series. if you haven't read it, _for the love of all that is holy just read it._
> 
> 5\. this is probably the most fun i've ever had writing a fic. it takes a lot of effort though so every comment is appreciated! <3
> 
> 7\. ALL ABOARD THE POISON/GHOUL TRAIN MOTHERFUCKERS


	4. I'm Gonna Run a Little Faster

Poison didn’t think there was anything in the world worse than waiting. 

Jumping Ghoul out of nowhere couldn’t possibly end well. He knew that. Ghoul would just go zero, or freak out, or call BLi, or something stupid like that. Poison knew the logic, but that didn’t stop the itch to do something, anything. Ghoul had been _so close,_ and Poison had been powerless to help. Every fiber of his being had been pulling at him, screaming for him to run across that fucking street and latch onto Ghoul and never let go, but he couldn’t.

He had to wait.

It had been bad enough waiting for his memories to come back, but this was a thousand times worse. 

Sandman and Killer King had practically had to drag him away. No matter how Poison had tried, he couldn’t seem to make his feet move. He just kept staring at Ghoul; so clueless, not even looking up from his clipboard. What was he writing? Probably some shit for BLi, but for just a moment, Poison imagined that he could be drawing. A ghost, or a zombie, something like that. He’d always liked horror. Or maybe he was writing a song, something new he could scream into the microphone as Poison sang his lungs out… 

In the end, Sandman had grabbed Poison’s hand and pulled him away, but Poison couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d left part of himself behind on that street. 

He was finding it hard to breathe around the lump in his throat by the time they got back to the Third Eye. Killer King slipped away somewhere along the journey, leaving Sandman the job of standing by as Poison wiped his face, cursing himself for being so obvious. He could only hope no BLi employee would notice his discomposure. 

Faking a smile had never seemed so difficult. 

“We have to work faster,” he’d said quietly. “I can’t wait another month in this fucking place. I need to get out of here.”

Sandman had nodded. “‘Course you do. Don’t worry, Poison, we’ve got it covered. Just keep hangin’ on.”

Then they had walked back inside, and Poison had shuddered under the gaze of the draculoids. Where was his gun when he needed it? Being there felt wrong. Walking around with his sickeningly blond hair (it should’ve been red, damn it), wearing the white clothes (wrong on so many levels), and, perhaps worst of all, having to use his old name-- it was all revolting. He thought he’d throw up if he had to force another cheery look.

And that was before the nightmares hit.

_Over and over, Poison watched the life bleed from Kobra’s broken body. He was desperate to look away, but each time, something kept his eyes fixed to his brother’s slowly paling face. The pool of blood would seep further across the ground, and then finally, Kobra’s chest would stop moving. Beside him, Jet Star’s fingers would twitch, and then it would be over._

_But it was never over._

_Time would slow and then speed up, and Poison was thrown back to that first moment. He would see it coming every time without fail, but he could never stop it. He’d fall to the ground. The dracs would rush around him. It would all spiral from there, starting with the Girl’s frantic screaming, then Jet Star and Kobra Kid, then Fun Ghoul._

_Every time, Ghoul would fall._

_Every time, he’d spit out a mouthful of blood, defying the draculoids even as they choked the life out of him._

_Every time, he would make eye contact with Poison, and in that single instant, he was shocked, furious, heartbroken, then… defeated._

_And every single fucking time, Poison knew it was his fault._

He woke up shaking with the force of his sobs. 

The room was still dark, thank the Sand and Sun. He didn’t think he could bear to see the lack of color. The darkness was a respite; it stole everything away into the night, hiding his tear-stained face, shielding him from the sheer reality of it all. He could almost pretend everything was okay.

But he could never believe it.

Instead, he wiped his face on the blankets, trying and failing to suppress the shudders that accompanied his breathing. Fuck. He couldn’t remember a time he’d felt so miserable. There had been one incident that came close; Jet and Kobra left on a raid and didn’t come back. After a week of searching, Dr. D had reported them missing, presumed dead, and Poison had thought the world was ending. But at least Ghoul and the Girl had been around. They’d kept him going until Jet and Kobra finally reappeared, kept him sane until he learned how to smile again.

But this time, he had no one.

Maybe Pete, but Pete wasn’t part of his crew. He didn’t carry a piece of Poison’s soul with him. No, this was worse than anything Poison had ever been through, because for the first time, he was alone, and he was utterly to blame for it. 

He didn’t go back to sleep. 

In the morning, he dragged himself out of bed, already exhausted from the very prospect of the day ahead of him. His mirror beeped shrilly, the noise grating. He winced as he looked over to the glowing text running across it. Some new BLi propaganda, no doubt. The messages hardly ever changed. He spared it only the briefest of looks before doing a double take.

 _”’Sup, Poison?”_ it read.

Poison raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t what he had been expecting. He stepped closer to the mirror, and a new message appeared.

_”This is Killer. I’ve been fucking around with your cam system for the night, y’know, so nobody notices that you’ve got your memories back. It was a little risky, but not as risky as letting you flip your shit on camera.”_

_”You look like hell, by the way.”_

Poison rolled his eyes. 

_”Seriously. You’ve got to get yourself together before you go out there. I’m sorry, but it’s true. And you’ve got to take the pills. I don’t have enough tech over here to wipe out your cams for good, and if you go off your meds out of nowhere, somebody’s gonna notice.”_

Poison took one look at the pill box sitting on his nightstand and almost fell over, a sudden bout of nausea twisting in his stomach.

“No,” he muttered. “I won’t. I can’t.”

 _”I can’t hear what you’re saying,”_ the mirror read. _”I’ve got the cams, not the bugs, so no audio. But I know what you mean. You have to, Poison, I wouldn’t be saying it if it wasn’t necessary. You’re going to feel like an even bigger load of shit if you don’t. You’re addicted just like everyone else, in case you’ve forgotten.”_

Poison hadn’t forgotten. How could he, with traces of the drugs clouding the corners of his mind, dragging at his limbs every time he tried to move? The pills might not have affected him as badly as they affected the other patients, but their effects were still noticeable. They were still _there._ He could never ignore them.

“Fuck no,” he spat. “I’ve gotten along fine by acting. That’s not going to change.”

_”Okay, yeah, you probably just said something pissy. If I were you, I’d just get it over with, but whatever, man. You do you. Just… I dunno. Stick close to Sandman and don’t do anything stupid.”_

Poison glanced at his pill box, and made a move towards it before the mirror beeped once more.

_”If you throw those out, I will end you, you punk little bitch.”_

Poison tried his best to pretend that hadn’t been exactly what he was about to do.

 _”I’d just have to get you more, asshole. How do you think that would speed up our progress? Oh, yeah. It wouldn’t. It’d just slow us down and keep us from reaching the goals that are so important to_ you. _So keep that rage in check, and for fuck’s sake, just take care of yourself.”_

_”I’ve gotta head out now, I’ve got a shitload of stuff to do. Don’t be stupid. Bye.”_

The text vanished, leaving Poison to stare at his own reflection. He tore his eyes away as quickly as he could.

Killer was right. He couldn’t let himself forget his situation. If he slipped up, he’d wind up ghosted.

But… 

He looked determinedly away from the box of pills. The mere thought of swallowing them was physically painful; a sharp, hot wave of revulsion. He couldn’t do it. He was strong enough, he’d make it somehow, but he couldn’t stand to submit himself to BLi any more than he already had. Taking the pills would feel like surrender. He'd promised himself long ago that he'd never poison himself with BLi's chemicals again. And the thought of facing Ghoul afterwards, admitting that he'd broken his promise...

Poison would get through this on his own. It was better this way. If he could just ignore the pain that flared up every time he thought of what he'd lost, he would manage.

_Just stop thinking._

Once, when Poison thought he had lost it all, it had felt like the world was ending. Now, he knew better. 

The world was far too cruel to end on his behalf.

***

“You know what we should do once we bust out of here?” Gabe said suddenly. “Throw a party!” A wicked grin split across his face, and Pete barely had the chance to groan before he was off on a tangent. “Oh, c’mon! I can’t even remember what booze tastes like. This city’s so goddamn boring, we need to spice it up a little.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Jesus Christ,” Pete muttered. “I had forgotten there was anyone in the world worse than Killer King.”

“I take that as a compliment,” Gabe purred. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ a bad boy.”

“Gross!” said Tyler, disgusted. “Gross, gross, gross.”

“It just isn’t Battery City without our resident sleazebag,” said Pete. Poison almost laughed, but swallowed it at the last moment. 

He was trying his best to enjoy himself. Gabe had recently burst out of his medication-induced shell in an explosion of glitter and innuendo, and even if he had trouble distinguishing the right moment in which to crack a joke, he did provide their little team with a note of lightheartedness they sorely needed. 

Poison was just having trouble getting used to having a “team.”

With Pete and Killer, things had been okay. Poison had needed friends, and they fit the job description perfectly. But this, the addition of Gabe and Tyler… He didn’t know why, but for some reason, it was making him uncomfortable.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. He knew exactly why.

This felt far too much like a _crew_ for him to enjoy it. 

Pete, Gabe, Tyler; they weren’t his crew. The fabulous four were his crew. No matter what happened, they were his family, and the idea of _replacing them_ made him want to claw his own face off. He was already dealing with enough guilt. The title of “family” was something too sacred to be adopted by anyone other than Jet Star, Kobra Kid, Fun Ghoul, and the Girl, and that was fucking final. He couldn’t let anyone take their place. He wouldn’t. It was a delicate balance: he couldn’t let himself dwell on the pain, but he couldn’t allow himself to forget it, either.

After a moment, Poison realized that Pete was looking at him with concern.

“You good, man?”

“Yeah,” Poison said. “‘M fine.” 

_Stop thinking about it. Forget it for a while._

“Amnesia is so weird,” Gabe mused. “I can’t remember what the hell a strip club is like, but I get the feeling it’s really fucking awesome.”

Pete snorted, but his attention was stolen for only a moment before he refocused on Poison. He wasn’t giving up any time soon. Poison cleared his throat and jumped into the conversation before Pete could say anything.

“Someday soon, dude. We’ll get you out to the desert, show you every club there is. It’ll be a fuckin’ blast.”

Gabe’s face brightened. “Oh, _hell_ yes.”

“Please don’t take me with you,” Tyler murmured.

“Don’t worry, we’ll protect your innocence,” Pete joked, but he still didn’t look away from Poison.

Gabe sighed dramatically, leaning back against the wall. “Why not? We’re finally free of BLi, this is our chance to find ourselves, to loosen up, just like you said. Why shouldn’t we loosen up in a more literal sense?” His eyes twinkled.

“Because Tyler’s barely of age, you sick fuck!”

“Let’s make sure Gabe gets to the Lobby soon,” said Poison. “If he doesn’t find some way to channel his,” he paused, “ _energy,_ he’s going to drive us all insane.”

“Yes!” Gabe said enthusiastically. “Any place but here. Can we, Pete? Pleeeease?”

Pete rolled his eyes. “Now you’ve got him started. I’ve already told you, we aren’t going to the Lobby until Tyler’s comfortable with it.”

“Sorry,” Tyler said meekly. “I just… I dunno, I’m…” He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “I’m scared we’ll be caught. I can’t go, not yet. But it’ll be soon. Probably.”

“Take your time,” Pete said gently. “Nobody’s going to rush you.”

“Except me,” Gabe added. 

Poison laughed, and for a second, the pressure lifted from his chest. 

_This is okay, right? They’re just my friends._

But then he remembered Ghoul, still waiting for his help. Still sinking further and further into BLi’s clutches. Every minute counted, and there was Poison, letting himself get distracted. His heart twisted with guilt.

But Pete was still looking at him worriedly, so he shoved it away.

_Don’t think about it._

***

When the Director waved hello, the smile on her face was brighter than it had been in days. The shadows beneath her eyes had vanished, leaving her with her typical immaculate appearance. That wasn’t a good sign. Sitting next to her was a woman Poison didn’t recognize, with wavy brown hair and eyes that glittered in a manner somewhere between beautiful and dangerous.

Poison didn’t like her. 

“There’s someone I’d like you all to meet!” the Director said happily. “This is Doctor Addy. From now on, she will be joining me as one of your core instructors.”

“Hi,” said Pete, beaming. Poison waved hello. The Director made sure each additional patient provided a suitable greeting before prompting them to speak further.

“Would you like to introduce yourselves?”

“Please don’t be shy,” said Doctor Addy. The words rolled off her tongue smoothly, her voice rich and golden as honey. “I won’t bite, I promise.” 

“Hi!” said Lynn. She was more than a little starstruck, when Doctor Addy gave her a smile, she practically glowed. “I’m Lynn. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“No, please,” said Doctor Addy. “The pleasure is all mine. And who might you be?” she said, inclining her head to Hayley, who was seated next to Lynn.

“What? Oh, I’m Hayley,” she said, distracted. Poison bit back a curse. She was beginning her transition off the meds, which Poison normally would have celebrated, but now was exactly the wrong time for her to show signs of regression. Doctor Addy quirked an eyebrow.

“I’m glad to meet you, Hayley.” 

Poison breathed a sigh of relief. Her distraction had probably just been interpreted as shyness. 

“And what about you?” said Doctor Addy, smiling at Poison. He smiled back.

“I’m Gerard.”

It had taken practice in order to say the words without shuddering. That morning, he had sat on the edge of his bed, quietly repeating them over and over until the associated disgust became more tolerable. It still bothered him, but he wasn’t about to let such a small detail give him away. Using a different name didn’t make him a different person. He was still Party Poison. They didn’t own him anymore.

Bob looked like a deer in headlights the second Doctor Addy’s gaze turned to him. Just like Hayley, his reaction was less than composed. “Uh, hi,” he stammered. “I’m Bob.”

_Shit, can’t you even try to act normal?_

Doctor Addy’s eyes glittered. “Good morning, Bob.” Fuck, those eyes made Poison uncomfortable. Doctor Addy didn’t look at people the same way the Director did, as if she was searching for something. 

She looked at people as if she already knew everything there was to know. 

Poison shivered. Thankfully, she was too busy talking to William to notice. 

_Why is she even here?_

The Director was acting as if everything was normal, but that couldn’t be the case. In all his time at Linda Vista, at the Third Eye, Poison had never seen her take on an assistant. It had to mean something. It couldn’t be a coincidence, especially not after her strange behavior over the recent weeks. 

He couldn’t ask questions, though. It would be far too obvious, and with that twinkle in Doctor Addy’s eye, grabbing her attention was the last thing he wanted to do. He had to stay quiet, as per fucking usual.

His nerves were jumping like he’d taken a hundred shots of caffeine by the time the meeting was over. 

“That was fun,” Pete said on their way out. “Hey, Tyler, Gabe, wanna hang out for a while?”

It was their usual routine; an invitation engineered to sound casual. If anyone was listening in, they would hear a scripted conversation, revealing nothing of importance. Tyler nodded.

“Should we go to the rec room?” Gabe suggested. He didn’t truly mean it. They all knew they were heading to Pete’s room; it was the only place that could be considered remotely safe.

On cue, Pete dismissed him. “Nah. Let’s just head up to my room. I got a new game on my tablet, I want to show it to you.”

They made forced small talk on the elevator and through the halls, keeping up the act until Pete’s door was firmly shut.

“Who is she?” Tyler burst out. “Why did the Director--”

“I don’t know,” said Pete. “But it can’t mean anything good. We’re gonna have to be extra careful now.”

“Careful doesn’t cover half of it,” Poison said darkly. “She gives me a bad vibe. With Bob and Hayley running their mouths, we’ll need to be on the alert every fucking second.”

“That’s what I was thinking. I had been planning on talking to them in a few days, to get them in on the plan… Advancing the schedule a bit shouldn’t do any harm. I’ll talk to them tomorrow, maybe even today.”

“What if it’s too soon?” Tyler said worriedly. “They only just started going off the pills…” 

“It’ll be fine,” said Pete. “We just need to adapt to the circumstances, that’s all. Then we can start figuring out what the hell this Addy lady is doing here.”

He didn’t sound quite as confident as he should have.

***

When Tyler and Gabe had been introduced to the strange concept of “freedom,” it took them a while to accept it, but they had welcomed it in the end. Poison didn’t know what he had expected from Hayley and Bob. 

But it certainly wasn’t this.

“I _knew_ it!” Hayley cried. “I knew something was going on here!”

Pete looked stunned. “Uh… Really?”

“Yes! I’ve been feeling so weird lately… And the memories, what could be so bad that the Director never wants me to remember? Why doesn’t she ever let me get mad? I knew something about this was messed up.” She nodded triumphantly. “I thought maybe I was the only one who saw it, but I wasn’t. I _knew_ I wasn’t crazy.”

“Hayley, don’t talk like that,” said Bob, frightened.

“What, do you still not get it?” she said, rounding on him. “Come _on,_ Bob. You’re the one who took so long to get the Director’s approval.”

“That wasn’t on purpose!” Bob said defensively. “I was trying my best, and I’ve finally gotten where I want to be, so--”

“So you’re just gonna let them zombify you?” Hayley demanded. She turned to Pete in a huff. “Tell me more about what’s going on. Bob can deny it all he wants, but _I_ want to be myself again.”

“This is really sudden,” Pete said nervously. “Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, I thought you might’ve… I dunno, taken some convincing. I didn’t expect you to get into it so quickly.”

“Aw, let her be,” said Gabe. “So what if she doesn’t need to be convinced? That makes it easier for us.”

“I can’t believe you’re all in on this,” said Bob, sounding slightly horrified. “I mean-- Pete? Gerard? What are you guys playing at, you’re going to get in so much trouble!”

“I know it’s scary,” said Tyler, timidly reaching out to touch Bob’s shoulder. “But it’s okay, it really is. You’ll understand once the meds wear off. It... it gets easier.”

Bob shoved his hand away. “Stop it. Tyler, you’re supposed to graduate soon. How can you throw it all away like this?” He sounded genuinely concerned, much to Poison’s disgust.

“Man, they really did a good job with you, didn’t they?” he said.

“Yes, they did,” Bob said, glaring at him. “They taught me how to be happy again, and I’m grateful for it, unlike you.”

“I wasn’t finished,” Poison said scornfully. “Don’t act like you don’t know what we’re talking about. They did a good job with you, yeah, but it wasn’t perfect. There are a couple chinks in the armor. Think about it, Bob. When was the last time you felt angry? Months ago? Years?” He raised an eyebrow. “Wrong answer. You’re angry right now, even after all that conditioning. You can’t let it go, even when they’ve told you so many times to erase the negativity. You’re not their perfect little slave. You’re pissed. Don’t even try to deny it.”

“Um,” said Bob. Poison smirked. He’d hit a sore spot.

“Th-that doesn’t mean anything!” Bob said, frustrated. “I mean, who wouldn’t be freaked out? You’re breaking all the rules!”

“Yeah, and we’ll break more if you don’t shut up and listen to us,” Poison snapped. “We can’t let you leave until you swear not to tell. Just give it a chance. In a few days, when the pills wear off, then you’ll see. You just have to wait until then.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Bob growled.

“Oh, really? And what’s a pill popper like you gonna do about it?” Poison snarled.

“Poison, chill out,” said Pete. “You too, Bob. Can we please just try and work this out peacefully?” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “I knew this was gonna happen eventually. Not everyone takes it well… Bob, I don’t want to fight with you.” He glanced up at Bob. “But… I’m not going to let you put this mission in danger. If you tell, we’re dead. All of us. Do you really want that on your hands?”

Bob faltered. “I… The Director wouldn’t do that.”

“She would,” Pete said grimly. “But I’d prefer you didn’t find that out the hard way. Please give us a chance. Just a few more days, and then…” He hesitated. “And then, if nothing changes, you can tell on us.”

“Pete!” Gabe said incredulously. “You can’t--”

“It’ll be fine,” Pete cut him off.

“That’s what you said before all this,” Gabe retorted. “‘A little change in the schedule won’t do any damage,’ huh? Look where that got us. You don’t have the best track record when it comes to predicting the future. Are you going to risk our lives on this guy?”

“If it makes him see the truth, then yes,” said Pete. 

Gabe scowled at the ground.

“Honestly, he’s got a point,” Poison said reluctantly. “Are you sure about this?”

“We won’t get anywhere if we don’t trust each other,” Pete said stubbornly. “It goes both ways, though.” He stared directly at Bob. “We’ll put our trust in you if you do the same for us. Just three days, that’s our truce. You can’t breathe a word about this to anyone. Can you handle that?”

Bob swallowed hard.

“This is so dangerous.”

“More so for us than for you,” Poison seethed. “You’re either with us or you’re not. What’ll it be?” He cracked his knuckles in a not-so-subtle threat.

“I…” Bob’s eyes widened. “I guess I’m with you.”

“Good,” Pete said quietly. 

There was a tense silence.

It was broken by a giggle from Hayley. “Now that Bob’s done being a tightass, can you tell me more about what exactly we’re doing?”

Pete nodded. He stood up straight, launching into an explanation of medications and plans and great escapes; Poison tuned it out after a few minutes.

He was busy keeping an eye on Bob.

***

 _”You need to talk to Sandman,”_ read Poison’s mirror.

He flipped it off. As a rule, he didn’t like dealing with Killer King’s bullshit before he’d had a decent breakfast. He grabbed a clean set of clothes and headed to the bathroom to change. If he didn’t, Killer would probably watch and proceed to make fun of him, because he was a sick bastard.

The mirror kept beeping insistently until he had his clothes on.

“All right!” Poison snapped. “The fuck do you want from me, Killer? What exactly is so urgent?”

_”You never seem to realize that I can’t hear you.”_

Poison motioned for him to continue.

_”You need to get back on the pills. Don’t give me that look, I’m not stupid. I know you haven’t been taking them. The withdrawal’s gonna hit you soon, and it ain’t gonna be pretty. Either force ‘em down, or take some of the weaker ones from Bob or Hayley to wean yourself off.”_

“That isn’t an option,” said Poison. “I’ll be fine. Just bring me some with your next round.” In case Killer couldn’t read his lips, he held up his middle finger. “I’m not taking them,” he said loudly.

_”Stop being an asshole. I’ll try to bring extra for you, but you’ve got to understand, those little shits are expensive. The markets are kind of psycho right now. And even if they weren’t, pills aren’t easy to come by. If I have to add you to the list of chumps I’m buying for, it’ll only slow us down. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: take your fucking meds.”_

Poison shook his head firmly.

_”Are you fucking kidding me!!!!!!”_

_”Fine. Have it your way. Let the Director notice your fucking withdrawal symptoms. But if you’re going to keep being stubborn about this, at least listen to me on one other point. You need to vent to somebody. Talk to Sandman, sort your shit out, and quit pretending you’re fine. You’re not. You’re having nightmares, and I see the way you look when you think no one’s watching. Nobody expects you to be okay.”_

“But they need me to be,” Poison said, his voice barely audible.

_”What?”_

“Nothing,” said Poison. “Do I get a gold star for exceeding expectations? ‘Cause I’m totally fine.”

_”God, I need to get ahold of some bugs. Or make a way for you to reply, at least. I’ll add that to the to-do list. Anyway, I’ve got company. Not the good type. Hitting the red line would be a good idea for me, so, see you later. Take your pills.”_

“Fuck that,” Poison said scornfully. The mirror’s lights dimmed. Wherever Killer was, he was on the move. Finally. His nagging was getting on Poison’s nerves. Poison didn’t need to _talk_ to anyone, he just needed to _act._

But he wouldn’t accept any type of action that included pills. He was a zone rat, not a _ritalin_ rat. 

“Stupid,” Poison muttered at his reflection. He wasn’t sure who or what he was addressing, but it needed to be said. His reflection stared angrily back at him.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply, his mouth set in a thin line. He missed his old color. Red like fire, like blood, like passion, that was his trademark. This short blond shit was just boring. It made him look washed-out, somehow, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were far too noticeable in contrast.

Of fucking course he was having nightmares. He wasn’t going to discuss them with Pete, though; he preferred not to relive them. He preferred not to think about them at all.

Poison straightened his collar, which was bug-free, thanks to Pete, and headed for the door.

He made it down to the first floor without meeting anyone. He was probably late. Sure enough, when he walked into the cafeteria, he found most of the other patients already seated. 

“Your friend might call himself King, but he needs to quit acting like we’re his royal subjects,” Poison complained as he slipped into a chair next to Pete. 

“What’d you do this time?” Pete asked, not looking up from his cereal.

“Why do you assume it was me?”

“Because you have poor impulse control and anger issues,” said Pete, smiling. He glanced up from his breakfast. The smile faded slightly. “Dude, you look like shit.”

“Do I?” Poison said absently. “Yeah, I probably do. Y’think there’s any way I could dye my hair without the Director noticing?"

“No, dude…” Pete was frowning now. “Did you sleep at all? You look like you’ve been up for three days, at _least._ ”

His guess actually wasn’t too far off, but Poison wasn’t about to admit that. He shrugged. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

Pete’s eyes narrowed. Poison sighed, sensing an incoming lecture. “Please don’t get on me about this, I’ve already got Killer nagging me nonstop,” he said.

“Nagging you about what?” Fuck. Pete was suspicious, and that meant he wouldn’t let go until Poison fessed up. 

“Nothing,” Poison muttered.

“Gerard.”

“I said, it’s nothing.”

“Good morning!” said a cheery voice from over his shoulder. Poison startled and nearly spilled his cereal. Doctor Addy was smiling down at him and Pete, looking back and forth between them. “What are talking about today, boys?”

Her smile exhibited far too much of her teeth.

Pete jumped in to cover them. “Just planning a ping-pong tournament. We’re planning on putting the table in the rec room to use, if we can get enough people to participate.”

“Well, doesn’t that sound lovely.” Doctor Addy’s head tilted slightly, and that fucking glimmer was back in her eyes. Poison edged just the slightest bit closer to the table. “I’ll leave you to your planning, then. I hope you all have fun.”

Her lab coat swished as she turned and set her sights on another innocent cluster of patients on the other side of the room. 

“Gerard,” Pete said under his breath. “You need to--”

“I don’t need to do shit,” said Poison, just as quietly. “Back off.”

Pete just frowned, sticking his spoon into his bowl of cereal and swirling the contents around.

“Just try to remember what’s best for all of us,” he said finally.

_What’s best for all of us is if we don’t surrender._

***

Hayley made no attempt to disguise her excitement. She danced from one foot to the other, beaming. “Are you serious? We can finally go?”

 _”Hell_ yes!” said Gabe, pumping a fist. “A night on the town!”

“Wait, what?” said Bob, stricken. “The Lobby is dangerous, we can’t go there!” He wasn’t outright defiant like he had been on the first day, but he still had the temperament of a startled rabbit; he scared easily, and Poison suspected that the slightest danger might send him running for the hills.

“It’ll be okay,” Tyler assured him. “It took me a long time to get used to the idea, too. But it’s perfectly safe. Pete wouldn’t take us anywhere dangerous, I promise.” He had adopted a spot at Bob’s side, and was clearly trying to act as some sort of role model. Poison wasn’t sure if it was stupid or admirable. Seeing someone as young as Tyler reassuring the older Bob was sort of hilarious, but it also seemed to be helping. Bob looked a little less terrified. 

“The Director said we can’t go there, though,” he said.

“What the Director doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Tyler said with a shrug.

For a moment, Bob looked suspicious, but it melted away quickly. “Okay. What exactly are we doing?”

“We’re having a jam session!” said Pete. “Here’s the deal. The Director thinks we’re going to the city park, so we’ll have to spend a little time there. We can’t talk about our real plans, ‘cause, y’know, bugs-- and that reminds me, we gotta fix you guys up with some clean clothes. But anyway, we keep quiet until I give a signal, then we can head out to someplace way better.”

“Which is where?” asked Hayley.

“It’s a surprise,” Pete said, grinning. “But you’ll like it.”

“We promise,” Poison added. “Are you guys ready?”

“I was born ready,” Gabe said with relish.

Pete led the group out of the Third Eye, smiling and waving at anyone they encountered. Poison was a little more on edge. They weren’t such a small group anymore; as soon as they got new recruits, they’d have to start splitting up. Going out all at once would attract too much attention. 

But for now, they scraped by. Poison sat through a boring half hour of small talk and soccer before Pete began to show signs of restlessness. He stopped the ball with his foot and looked around, then whistled out a single note. The others looked confused, but Poison recognized a signal when he saw one. He started moving towards the edge of the park, and, catching on quickly, the others followed him. Pete whistled again. After a moment, Killer came bounding up to meet them.

“Are these the newbies?” he said excitedly. “Aw, man! It’s been ages since I’ve seen ‘em all! They look different. God, it’s weird seeing you all in white.”

The others looked confused enough by Killer’s sudden appearance for his comment to slip by unnoticed. Pete glared at him anyway.

“You’re Gabe, right? And Tyler and Hayley and Bob.” Killer pointed to each of them in turn. “I’m Killer King, the shiniest sand rat you’ll ever have the pleasure to meet. Where are we headed?” He glanced at Pete. “Rent-A-Ment, I assume?"

“Spot-on,” Pete confirmed. “You got carbons? I’m running a little low.”

Killer rolled his eyes. “You’re bleedin’ me dry, Sandman… But I got you covered.” He pulled a handful of carbons from his pocket and passed them to Pete. 

“Are you a killjoy?” asked Hayley, awe-struck.

Killer laughed. “Not quite. I’m somethin’ close, though.”

Bob took a step backwards.

Killer looked at him shrewdly. “Twitchy, aren’tcha?”

Pete jumped in before Bob could go any paler. “Come on, guys. Let’s just go.” He strode past Killer, Poison at his heels.

Poison had a pretty good idea of the route to the Rent-A-Ment by now. He could tell which corners Pete was going to turn before he turned them, and he had a rough idea of how many blocks it would be before the familiar dingy stall appeared between a pair of buildings.

“Oh, joy,” Trophy Son said wearily. “You brought your groupies.”

“Shut up, you greasy-haired fuck,” Killer snorted. “It means more cash for you.”

Poison tuned out their banter, amusing himself instead by watching the looks on the others’ faces. At the sight of the instruments, Tyler looked like a kid in a candy store. Gabe was ready to dive right in, and Hayley was just staring, a grin spreading across her face.

Surprisingly enough, Bob looked delighted.

“Are those drums?” he said. “Can I use them? Please?”

“Knock yourself out,” said Pete. Bob rushed forward, grabbing the sticks and sitting down, giving each drum in the set an experimental whack. Poison giggled. Bob looked up, flushing red. “What?”

“Nothing, man. It’s good to see you getting into it.”

Bob rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the drums.

Hayley and Gabe each had one hand on the microphone, and were staring each other down. “I have dibs,” Gabe insisted. Hayley pursed her lips. After a moment more of staring, she caved, and reached for a guitar.

“I don’t know what I should play,” Tyler mumbled.

Poison patted his shoulder. “What feels right? There’s gotta be something pullin’ at you.”

“Nope,” Tyler said, looking slightly miserable. “I mean, the mic, but I don’t wanna take it from Gabe.”

Pete cleared his throat and gave Trophy Son a look.

“Oh, fine,” the shopkeeper grumbled. “C’mere, kid, I’ve got something for you.” Tyler pointed to himself, and Trophy Son nodded. “Yeah, you. C’mere.”

Tyler trotted over to him.

“I usually don’t take this one out," Trophy Son explained. “It’s old as hell and I don’t want anybody breaking it. But something tells me you wouldn’t be strong or stupid enough to break it if you tried, so I’m gonna let you use it.” Tyler looked as if he didn’t know whether to be insulted or pleased, but when Trophy Son pulled out a case and unbuckled it, his expression landed on pure shock.

“That’s a keyboard,” he said.

“Sure is. Want to give it a try?”

“Yes!” Tyler took the keyboard and held it with reverence. For a moment, it seemed he was going to spend more time staring at it than playing it. But after a moment, he pulled out the legs that were folded into the bottom, propped it in front of an amp, and sat down.

His fingers rested on the keys.

“There’s so much,” he murmured. “I don’t know which to…” He pressed down one key, then another, and then he was playing; a chipper sort of melody with a light, upbeat tempo. But then it shifted to something softer, and then something slower, and then something Poison couldn’t describe as anything but _sad._

“You’ve got quite the repertoire,” said Poison.

Tyler’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, I… I guess. I feel like I should remember all this. I _do_ remember this. I just don’t know what it means.”

“Keep playing,” Poison encouraged. “Let the music do the thinking.”

Tyler didn’t need to be told twice. His fingers had fallen into a consistent melody, and his eyes had fluttered closed. Poison could see his lips forming silent words. 

“This is weird,” Tyler said suddenly, his eyes opening. “I feel like… It’s right there, Gerard, it’s on the tip of my tongue--”

“Just keep playing,” Poison said soothingly. Tyler took a deep breath and returned to the music.

His expression shifted as he played; at first he was relaxed, then pained, the aching sadness of the music reflected perfectly in his face. Poison remembered the first time he had gotten to play guitar, how the memories had danced across the surface of his mind before vanishing. Tyler was probably going through something similar.

“Is he okay?” Pete said under his breath. “We can ask him to stop if it gets too intense.”

Poison glanced at Tyler. He was still breathing out words too quiet to hear, whispering lyrics half-remembered. “No, I think he’s fine.”

Tyler’s eyes were squeezed shut with concentration. He pressed the keys down harder, and his mumblings grew louder to accompany the music. They were less melodic and more rhythmic. Blurryface had been a rapper, Poison remembered. A weird sort of rapper, with piano and ukelele and a fair amount of screaming, but a rapper nonetheless, and a damn good performer.

“And I asked, ‘Am I alive and well or am I dreaming dead?’” Tyler murmured. “And then one turned around to say, ‘We’re driving toward the morning sun, where all your blood is washed away, and all you did…”

His eyes opened.

“Will be undone,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the last word.

For a split second, he was frozen.

Then he seemed to fold into himself, collapsing to the ground in a twitching heap. Pete was at his side in an instant. “Shit, shit, shit! Tyler?”

Poison could only watch in horror as Tyler’s face screwed up in agony. He was talking again, the words pouring from his mouth, not ceasing even as Pete shook him. “Under clothes, under skin; underneath we’re all the same, for when you remove the tricky tricks, only skeleton bones remain-- fricking, no, stop it, I _hate you._ Stop it stop it _stop!_ Get out! Josh, where-- Josh?” He was crying now, clawing at his face; he didn’t seem to hear anything that was going on around him.

“Hey!” Trophy Son barked. “Get him outta here, you know the rule. No zeroes in the shop.”

“Give us a minute,” Pete snapped. He tugged Tyler’s hands away from his face. “Tyler, can you hear me?”

Tyler shuddered. “My n-name’s Blurryface.” His breath came in sharp gasps, his chest heaving as he seized on the ground. “And… I care what…” 

Poison knelt down beside him. 

“Is this what it was like?” he asked Pete. “Watching me, I mean? When I remembered? I mean, is this normal, is he gonna be okay?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Yeah, it’s normal,” Pete said grimly. “When it happened to you, you, uh… screamed a little more. We had a tough time keeping you quiet.”

Poison paused, his heart sinking. “If this is normal, what was it like with Ryan?

Pete was silent.

“Worse. Just… so much worse.”

“Josh,” Tyler whimpered. “Bes’ friends, we’re… I’m…”

“You’re okay,” Pete said gently. He placed a hand under Tyler’s head. “Don’t hurt yourself. You’re gonna be fine, man, just try and come back to us.”

Tyler took a deep, shaky breath.

“That’s it. Just wake up, you’re fine. You’re fine.”

Something in Tyler seemed to flicker back to life.

He sat up slowly, pushing Pete’s hand away. “I remember,” he whispered. A tear traced its way down his cheek, but his lips were gradually curling into a wide smile. “I _remember_. I’m Blurryface! Well, not really, it’s an art thing, Blurry’s supposed to be the one I’m _not--_ but it’s me. It’s me, I’m back, I’m not theirs anymore!”

Pete pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m so glad.” Poison finished the rest of the sentence in his head-- _I’m so glad things didn’t go wrong._

“Um,” said Gabe. “Can somebody explain what the hell just happened?”

***

“Is that everyone?” said the Director. “Time certainly flies. Now that we’ve all shared, I think we can wrap this meeting up-- unless, of course, you have something to add?” She looked to Doctor Addy. 

“As a matter of fact, I do. Let’s talk graduation dates,” Doctor Addy said smoothly. “There are several of you on the list, so it’s time to begin thinking about a definitive end to your treatment. Pete, Tyler, Bob; I am of course speaking to you. I think we should make this into a group ceremony, since you’re all ready at the same time.”

“That sounds like a lovely plan,” said the Director, nodding with approval.

“Um,” said Bob. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

“That sounds _awesome,_ ” said Pete, flashing his megawatt grin. 

Doctor Addy made a note on her clipboard. “Do you have a specific date in mind, Madame Director? If not, I think two weeks from tomorrow would be ideal.”

“I agree. We can have a presentation in the fifth floor meeting hall, I’ll get to work on a guest list… Do you think it would be appropriate to invite _him?”_

Doctor Addy and the Director giggled as if they had shared a secret joke. “I couldn’t think of anything more appropriate,” said Doctor Addy. “This is his moment of triumph!”

“And he’s been under so much pressure lately, with all that’s going on. He could use a break,” the Director said sympathetically. 

Poison didn’t know who or what they were talking about, but if it had them so fucking tickled, it couldn’t have been anything good.

“Anyway, let’s wrap this up,” said Doctor Addy, suddenly businesslike. “Please proceed to the next activity on your schedules… with no detours.” Was it Poison’s imagination, or did her gaze flick over to him?

He was one of the first patients out the door. Just as he was turning in the direction of his room, someone grabbed onto his sleeve. It was Bob.

“Hey,” Bob said in a hushed tone. “I know she said no detours, but I have to tell you something.”

Poison gave a pointed look to Bob’s collar, but Bob waved him away. “Pete got me something clean. I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

“Okay,” Poison said, suspicion gnawing at his nerves. “What’s up?”

Bob cleared his throat and looked away. “So, uh. I wanted to say sorry. Y’know. For being a dick these past few days.”

Poison hadn’t been expecting that. He could only manage to look shocked, but Bob seemed to take his silence the wrong way, and rushed to explain himself.

“I just didn’t understand at first. BLi got really deep into my head, y’know? But I get it now. We shouldn’t have to forget who we are in order to be happy. I’m one of you guys… right?” He looked pleadingly at Poison. His blue eyes shone with genuine hope.

“Yeah, totally,” said Poison, shaking himself. _What did you think he was going to say?_ he mentally scolded himself. “It’s no big deal, we wouldn’t hold that against you. Tyler had the same problem.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bob laughed. “He’s really trying to help me out. Oh, one more thing. Are we going back to the Lobby anytime soon? I wanna try those drums again.” 

Poison had gotten used to the stony look that had once been Bob’s default expression; he looked like a different person when he smiled. His entire face lit up, bathing in a warm glow. He no longer looked like a deadened BLi zombie. His inner killjoy was finally shining through, wondrous and full of childlike delight.

Poison smiled. “I’ll ask Pete. If we all beg, he should say yes.”

“He’ll say yes anyway,” Bob said confidently. “He’s nice.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“One more thing,” Bob blurted. Poison raised an eyebrow.

“Y’know, next time you’ve got so many questions lined up, you should just make a proper meeting of it. That way everyone can pester me at once.”

“Sorry,” said Bob, blushing. “Nevermind. It… it’s no big deal, I guess.”

He turned his back and hurried away, Poison laughing as he disappeared around the bend.

The encounter was almost enough to make him forget about Doctor Addy.

***

Poison woke up sweating, waves of heat rolling over him like flames licking at his skin. He shoved his blanket away, stumbling out of bed and toward the window. The sun hadn’t yet risen. It was pitch black outside but for the lights of late-operating businesses. He pressed a palm to the window; the glass should have been cool and forgiving, but he could barely feel it. When he removed his hand, it left a steamy print.

He stared into his hands with fascination. Either the room was shaking, or they were. Perhaps it was both. Walking back over to his bed felt like swimming through a rip current, the floor dipping and swaying beneath him.

Something was beeping in the background.

The noise drilled into his skull, each burst of sound like a physical blow. Poison clamped his hands over his ears, wincing as he searched for the source of the sound.

He found it in his mirror.

The words streaming across it were blurry, and moving far too quickly for him to process them. He ignored them, staring instead at his own reflection.

“Shit,” he said out loud.

Poison’s hair was damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead. His cheeks were flushed, his pupils blown out wide; he could barely see the hazel irises around them. He touched a finger to the mirror, entranced.

The words kept getting in his way. He tapped on them impatiently, trying to brush them away. He just wanted to see himself, damn it. Why wouldn’t they move? Hey, did that say “stupid”? How rude. Poison squinted at the words, willing them to slow down so he could read them.

_”STUPID STUBBORN RECKLESS IDIOT FUCKTARD TAKE YOUR GODDAMN PILLS RIGHT NOW”_

It wasn’t the nicest greeting, but Poison had received far worse. Who was writing those words, anyway? What was that about pills? 

_”DO I NEED TO GET SANDMAN OVER THERE”_

Sandman. That name rang a bell. He was the pink-haired one, the Suiteheart, the bass player. Poison didn’t know him very well, but he seemed all right. 

Wait. No. Sandman had black hair. He wasn’t a Suiteheart anymore, he was a patient. He was Pete, he was Poison’s friend. How could he have forgotten?

_”PILLS. YOU. NOW.”_

Poison didn’t like pills. He _hated_ them. They had ruled his life for so long, and when he was finally free of them, he had vowed to never go back. The only people who would tell him to take pills were BLi. He didn’t trust BLi. He couldn’t trust these words, either.

Except…

These words weren’t from BLi. They were from Killer King, that was right. Why would he want Poison to take pills? He was… He was… 

Poison never got to finish the thought. The flames heating his skin surged forward and enveloped him in a column of fire, wiping out all sensation but the _burn, burn, burn._

***

Poison didn’t want to open his eyes. His head pounded, his throat felt scratchy; basically everything hurt. He was perfectly content to keep sleeping. 

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” said a voice from the edge of his bed.

He went still, hoping he could pass for unconscious. The voice just scoffed.

“Don’t bullshit me, Poison. Get up.”

Poison groaned weakly and forced his eyes open.

“Good morning,” Pete said sweetly. “You wanna tell me why Killer King had to wake me up in the middle of the night to force meds down your throat and stop you from fucking killing yourself?”

Poison scowled. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah. That’s exactly the fucking point.” Pete’s tone was pleasant as ever, but it wasn’t enough to disguise the truth. He was _pissed._ Poison could see the anger bubbling just beneath his skin. “You didn’t do anything. You didn’t take the pills, not even when you knew it would slow us down. You were too busy thinking about your own goddamn principles to remember where we are. This is Battery City, Poison, you don’t get to _have_ principles. You just do whatever the fuck it takes to get yourself and your loved ones out safely.”

“You have principles,” Poison muttered.

“Not the kind where I go cold turkey off the pills! Christ, Poison, you think I don’t hate it? You think it doesn’t make me feel disgusting, like I have no idea what they fucking _do_?” Pete snarled. “We all hate it; you’re the only one who’s acting like this. But there’s a reason for that. This isn’t really about the pills, huh.”

Poison sat up, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, really? What’s it about, then?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Say _what_?” Poison said through gritted teeth.

Pete sighed. “Fun Ghoul.”

Poison stiffened. “You-- no. This has nothing to do with him.” 

It was a lie, and they both knew it. He had done it _for_ Ghoul. Every time the pain threatened to swallow him, the idea of medication to numb one’s emotions was suddenly appealing. But he never let himself take it. Ghoul would never forgive him if he did. If Poison could just get past it on his own, then he wouldn’t have to feel disgusting the next time he saw Ghoul; he wouldn’t have to confess to breaking the vow he’d made so long ago. He was no addict. He would never let BLi bring him under their spell.

Pete gave him a look.

“No,” Poison said, fighting to keep his voice even. “He’s… I don’t want to talk about this. I’m doing fine, I just don’t want to think about it, okay? The pills had nothing to do with it.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Pete demanded. “‘Don’t think about it?’ You sound like the Director. What, did you think you could just quit the pills and be done? That's never worked before, you know that. Did you think you were, hmm, _Better_ than the rest of us? Stronger? Seriously, Poison, what led you to think you could make it out of this without getting hurt?”

“Don’t,” Poison warned. 

“Or maybe that was what you wanted. What was this, some fucked up kind of self-punishment?” Pete went on furiously. “I expected you to get all impatient once we found Ghoul, start campaigning to go in and rescue him or whatever. But that’s not what you did. You haven’t said one word about him since you remembered. That’s not normal. It’s like you’re moving backwards. So here’s what I think: you might not have gone zero, but you aren’t as fine as you say you are. You're all kinds of fucked up, aren't you?"

“Don’t fucking talk about him!” said Poison, his face burning with guilt and anger.

“Why not?”

“Because,” Poison spat.

“Because it hurts?” asked Pete. The fury inside him seemed to dim, and he sighed, looking gentler. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“No. Yes. Fuck off, I don’t want to talk.” Poison fixed his eyes on Pete in the deadliest glare he could muster.

“I know you don’t, man, but I think you need to. Just let it all out. I know killjoys have never been the healthiest of creatures, but I’m offering you a chance to not bottle it all up for once. We need you in a good state of mind. Plus, you’re my friend, and I want to help.”

Poison was silent.

_Ghoul would want you to._

He couldn’t believe he was actually considering this. But Pete was right; the other patients needed him. And deep down, he knew he should’ve just taken the meds. They couldn’t afford any delays, but he had deliberately slowed them down for no reason other than his own stubbornness. He had put Ghoul’s safety at risk.

Oh, God. 

_I put him in danger._

The thought made him feel sick.

“I don’t… know how. To talk about it,” he said with difficulty. 

“Just start talking and don’t stop,” said Pete. “Go wherever your mind takes you.”

Poison leaned forward to rest his chin in his hands, thinking for a minute.

“He’s so much worse than I am,” he said finally. Once he started speaking, the words tumbled out without pause; he couldn’t stop. “Ghoul. He’s super fucked up. You wouldn’t recognize him if you saw him the first time we met. Back then, he was just wandering around, blowing stuff up and not really caring who got caught in the crossfire… It took a long time for that to change. Some really bad shit’s happened to him, like, stuff you can’t even imagine. I wasn’t sure if he’d ever trust me. He has this problem where he doesn’t face his feelings, just gets numb. Sound familiar?” He laughed bitterly. “Fuck, I’m a hypocrite. But whatever. Guess I didn’t know how tempting it could be to just shut down.” Poison rubbed his eyes, sighing. 

“Sorry for being an ass. I just… _really_ hate BLi, and taking the pills makes me feel like I’m supporting them or something. I… uh, used to be an addict. I thought once I left for the desert, I’d never have to take a pill again. Turns out, things don’t always go the way you plan them.”

“You know I’m not mad ‘cause of the pills, right?” Pete said quietly. “Not really. I mean, I am, but mostly I’m just pissed off because I walked in here and you looked like you had died. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Poison ran a hand through his hair. “I hate it here. We need to get out. We should start working on that escape plan, go save Ghoul. Fuck. I can’t believe I put this bullshit ahead of him, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Like I said, man. Breakdown,” Pete said sympathetically. “It twists your head in all kinds of crazy ways.”

“I don’t care, I just want to start working,” said Poison. “We've got to make up for lost time. I can’t… God, imagining him in a place like this makes me sick. We need to do something.”

“Then let’s do something,” Pete said, smiling. “But I think you still have some things you need to talk about.”

Poison groaned. “I don’t need your therapist bullshit, okay--”

“Poison,” Pete interrupted. “When you think about him, does it make you feel so guilty and pissed and upset all at once that it makes you want to scream? But at the same time, you don’t want to deal with any of it?”

“Um,” said Poison. “Yeah.”

“That’s how I felt when I remembered who I was and I couldn’t find my family,” Pete said softly. “I might’ve let it kill me if Killer hadn’t been there to help me through it. I needed to talk about shit, and so do you. So shut up and let me help.”

“Telling me to shut up is kind of counterproductive when you want me to talk,” Poison pointed out.

Pete rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Poison’s throat went dry as he thought over every tiny detail that made him hurt, all the things he wished he could have done.

_Shouldn’t have let the dracs get me. Should’ve saved the Girl. Should’ve told Ghoul to run._

“Shit,” he whispered. “Where do I even start?”

By this point, Poison’s eyes were stinging, and he didn’t try to stop it when the tears spilled over. He just let it happen. He hated crying in front of people, he _hated_ it, but he couldn’t hold it back anymore, and Ghoul was something worth crying over. 

_I’m gonna get you out of there, I promise. I’m gonna bring you home._

***

Killer spread a sheet of paper out on the ground. “All right. This is a map of Battery City. The Third Eye,” he pointed to a circled location on the map, “is here. Once we bust you out, we’re going to head for Crybaby’s section of the subway system, which is here.” He pointed to another spot. “They’ll have trouble finding you underground. You’ll need the cover; when you leave, you become official fugitives.”

“Obviously, the process of leaving won’t be too difficult,” said Pete. “I mean, all we really have to do is walk out the door. They won’t stop us. But once they realize we’re not coming back…”

“Hopefully we’ll have you hidden by then, but I’ll have weapons ready just in case. I hope you remember how to shoot a ray gun.”

“What if they do try to stop us?” Bob said nervously. 

“They won’t,” Killer assured him. “But I’m assembling a backup team in case things go wrong, and like I said, you’ll have weapons.”

“Who’s on the team?” Pete said suspiciously. “We don’t know who we can trust.”

“The bigshots, mostly. Whoever controls the most territory. Crybaby, New Americana, Lost Boy, y’know the crowd. I know that puts a little more spotlight on you than you’d like, but face it, you can’t keep this a secret forever. People are going to realize that the killjoys are waking up. That isn’t a bad thing,” said Killer. 

Pete pursed his lips. “Okay. Fine. But if anyone gets in the way of our plans, I’m pinning it on you.”

“Gotcha. Now, how soon after your escape are we going to start moving in on the Crystal Ball? You’ll have to be quick. BLi’s bound to up the security after your grand exit, especially when you consider who’s in that center.” He glanced at Poison. “They’re gonna know exactly where you’re headed, and why.”

“We go as soon as possible,” Poison said firmly. “Maybe a day after our escape, tops. The second we get our stuff together, we’re blowing that shithole wide open.” He rolled his eyes at the look Pete gave him. “ _Figuratively_ , jeez. I know the rule. No explosions, blah blah blah.”

“I don’t know if invading right away is a good idea,” Tyler interjected. “I mean, won’t that be scary for the patients inside? BLi’s still messing with their thoughts. They’re still addicts, they don’t know us.”

“Doesn’t matter. The first priority is getting them out, we’ll fix their heads afterwards.”

“We can’t do that,” said Pete. “We have to make sure they’re stable before we move them out. Do I need to remind you _again_ what’s at stake?”

Poison shook his head, scowling.

“You keep saying that,” said Hayley, frowning. “But what do you mean? Tyler remembered, and he was fine. We all saw it. What exactly is so dangerous about remembering too fast? All you’ve said is that it can mess you up. What does that really mean?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Pete muttered. “There’s someone I need to introduce you to before we break out.” 

Killer smiled, but his eyes just looked sad.

“Before anything else, we need to get the other patients on board,” Gabe reminded. “Travie and Lynn and William are still in the dark about all this.”

“Right, of course. We’re just making sure we’re prepared,” said Pete. “Things can always go wrong. It’s best to have a plan ready in advance so you can adapt when they do.”

“What if a plan isn’t enough?” Bob fretted. 

“Relax, dude,” Killer said, rolling his eyes. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Privately, Poison wasn’t sure he agreed.

***

Everything seemed to be going smoothly. Travie, Lynn, and William had each started their treatment, and hadn’t put up too much of a fight when Pete brought them up to speed. Killer had confirmed the participation of his backup team. The Director was oblivious as ever, and though Doctor Addy continued to give Poison the creeps, she didn’t seem to know anything, either.

Everything was going well until Bob burst into Poison’s room in a panic.

“Gerard!” he gasped, hanging from the doorframe. “Dracs in the hall, they know the plan, overheard them--”

“Doctor Addy?” Poison asked instantly, throwing his tablet aside. 

“She knows! She knows everything! No time, just get the others, come _on!_ ” Bob grabbed Poison by the sleeve and pulled him out the door. Poison was no stranger to urgency. He sprinted alongside Bob to Pete’s room, not bothering to waste his breath with stupid questions. Bob hammered on the door until it swung open.

“Wha--”

“Doctor Addy knows we’re leaving,” Bob interrupted. “We need to go _right now._ ”

“Right,” said Pete, his initial shock melting into determination. “Let’s go.”

Gabe’s room was just down the hall. They picked him up, then Tyler, who was a few doors over. Hayley’s room was on the next floor up. They ran for the elevator, only to be find a group of dracs advancing toward them. “Shit,” said Bob, white-faced.

“Head for the ground floor!” said Gabe. “The stairs are at the other end of the hall, we can make it--”

“We can’t leave without the others!” Tyler protested.

“Everyone shut up!” Pete shouted. “It’s what we’ll have to do. We’ll be back for them, but right now, we need to get the hell out of here!” He raised his hand, and Poison caught a flash of purple paint before the ray gun fired, blowing a hole in the wall behind the nearest drac. Tyler nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Where the fuck did you get that?” Poison demanded.

“Killer gave it to me for emergencies! Now get _out!_ ”

Poison didn’t need to be told twice. He shoved Tyler and Bob down the hall after Gabe, who was already racing for the stairs. Behind them, Poison could hear more ray guns firing, but they hadn’t stopped, which meant Pete must not have been injured yet. They could make it as long as they didn’t look back.

Poison made sure the others were on their way down before he stopped, risking one last look at Pete.

He was backing down the hall, clutching his gun with both hands. He had the power of intimidation on his side, but it was only a front. He was greatly outnumbered. There were at least ten dracs advancing toward him, and that number was sure to grow when they called for backup. He scrambled back another few feet, glancing over his shoulder to Poison. 

For a moment, they were frozen, time seeming to slow as they held eye contact.

Then Pete slashed his arm through the air, pointing down. He didn’t need to say anything. It was an unspoken rule among killjoys, one that was often learned the hard way: when one person chose to sacrifice themself, you honored that fucking sacrifice. You didn’t go back for them. It would put your entire party at risk. After all his years in the desert, Poison knew that no matter how hard it was, sometimes you had to leave people behind. It was the only way. Going back was never a good idea.

But that didn’t stop him from doing it.

Pete had already turned back to the dracs, facing them down with the air of a man willing to die for his cause. Poison didn’t stop to think before he acted. He just ran, sprinting toward Pete as fast as he could and hooking his arms around the smaller man, dragging him back to the stairs before the dracs could make a move.

“Poison!” Pete said. For a moment, he registered only shock, but it was quickly replaced with anger. He struggled to break free of Poison’s grip. “You can’t do this, I need to--”

“Shut up and shoot!”

Pete had murder in his eyes, but thankfully, he directed it at the draculoids rather than Poison. He squeezed the trigger as fast as he could as they hurtled down the stairs, nearly crashing into Bob, who was waiting at the bottom.

“Go!” said Poison, pushing Bob forward. “Don’t wait for us! That’s not how it works, just save yourself!”

They sprinted in the direction of the lobby. Pete stayed at the back of the group, zap held at the ready. After a few seconds, Poison heard the thunder of additional footsteps, and Pete breathed a quiet _“Shit.”_

“How many?” Poison said under his breath.

“Too many,” Pete replied.

“Okay, get ready to run,” Poison said, raising his voice.

“We _are_ running!” Gabe complained. 

“This? This is nothing. Get ready to run for your fucking life."

“One,” Pete yelled. “Two… Three! _Go, go, go!_ ”

Poison’s lungs burned with effort, each breath a gasp, a struggle to keep moving. He could barely feel his legs. He could hear Bob wheezing beside him, Tyler and Gabe running a little ways behind, and finally Pete bringing up the rear, but he couldn’t turn to look at them. All his energy was being poured into running. A sprint like this was the difference between life and death; he couldn’t slip up now.

“Keep running,” he managed. 

They burst out from the hall into the lobby. Each step brought them closer to the door, and as Poison reached out, he almost let himself believe they had made it.

Then Doctor Addy appeared in the doorway, and he screeched to a halt. 

“Good afternoon, Gerard,” she said, eyes glittering dangerously. “I’ve been wondering how long it would take you to get this far.”

_No._

“But you aren’t really Gerard, are you? Not that sweet little boy the Director raised so carefully. I’m not sure that boy ever existed. You’ve just been pretending, haven’t you? You’ve never been anything more than a filthy terrorist at heart, _Party Poison._ ”

“That’s the name,” said Poison. His voice was confident; cocky, even, but his heart was hammering in his chest. “So you knew, then. Why did you wait? Why not just kill me?”

She laughed. “I was naive. I had hope, when I first arrived at this facility, that there could be a chance to save you. But it became terribly obvious in only a few days that things weren’t going to work out. You might have fooled the Director with your little charade, but nothing gets past me.” She raised her arms, as if welcoming him to approach her. “I was against the idea of your rehabilitation, you know. I knew it would never work. Those toxic ideals are rooted too deep inside you. But don’t worry… This time, I’ll make sure you aren’t treated with such lenience.”

Poison exchanged a panicked look with Pete, and the dracs behind them raised their guns in unison.

“Tyler, Gabe, you two were a bit more surprising,” Doctor Addy continued. “I thought you were better than this. That applies to you as well, Bob. And as for Pete… well, you were always a little too perfect. Like I said, nothing gets past me.”

“What about this?” shrieked a voice from outside.

Pete slammed into Poison, knocking him to the ground, and with a _crash,_ the windows detonated inwards. Broken glass rained down from above. A shock wave rippled across the floor, and a cloud of dust rose on the air, thick and opaque as ash.

“Oh my god,” came Tyler’s voice. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my _god._ ”

“Up!” Pete shouted, coughing as he breathed in the dust. “Come on, get up, all of you!”

A figure rose from the ground, and Poison was able to identify Gabe’s lanky frame. He was holding up a stockier figure that must have been Bob. 

“Tyler?” Poison called. 

“Right here,” a voice wheezed, and there was Tyler, clinging to Poison’s arm. “Let’s go.”

“Okay, follow me,” Pete ordered. He led them off through the dust, blindly moving toward the door.

“Sandman?” someone shouted from outside. It was the same voice as before, the one who had blown out the windows. 

“Killer!” Pete shouted back. “We’re here, keep talking!”

A silhouette appeared in the darkness, waving a hand in vain to try and clear the smoke. “Come on, let’s get you guys out of here,” said Killer’s voice. “We’ll head straight for the subways. Grab onto each other, I’ll lead you.”

Poison latched onto Pete’s arm, Tyler still clinging to his own, and one by one, they formed a chain. Killer led them out of the building, the dust clearing as they stepped into the open air. 

“How’d you know what was happening?” Pete coughed. He wiped a layer of grime from his face. 

“I saw the trucks,” said Killer. “Tons of dracs, all headed your way? Not a good sign. Thank fuck I noticed.”

“Thank fuck we were prepared,” Poison murmured. “I just want to know how they found out we were planning an escape. Doctor Addy made it sound like the Director was totally clueless… But if that’s true, how did Doctor Addy figure it out? Something must have tipped her off.”

“We got careless,” Pete said darkly. “It was only a matter of time before somebody saw through our act.”

“That’s all well and good,” Killer said impatiently, “But we can talk about it when we’re somewhere safe. Come on, I’m not about to let you get captured and have all those grenades go to waste.” He dragged Pete further away from the building. The windows were still gushing smoke, but the explosion hadn’t been big enough to wipe out the dracs. They’d be running out as soon as they were back on their feet.

“Okay,” Killer panted as he jogged, scanning over the newly-released patients. “Sandman, Poison, Blurryface, Disas-- I mean, Gabe, and Bob. And…” He stopped running, staring back at the Third Eye. “Wait, what? Where are the others, are they still inside?”

“There was no time,” Pete said shortly. “Let’s keep moving.”

“No, no, wait.” Killer’s expression shifted, flicking back and forth between shock and anger. “Where’s Scarlet? And Believer and Lazarus and White Noise, are you just going to leave them?” 

Something seemed to click in his mind, and his eyes filled with a quiet rage.

“Oh, Sandman. Tell me you fucking didn’t.”

“There was no _time_ ,” said Pete, frustrated. “We can’t stay here, Killer, we have to keep--”

“Tell me you didn’t fucking leave him behind,” said Killer. “Tell me.”

“I had to,” Pete whispered.

“Oh, really?” Killer hissed, taking a step closer to Pete. “Why does that not surprise me? Of course you grabbed your little friends first, but not the one person I specifically asked you to save. God _damn_ it, Pete, we had a _deal_ \--”

“The dracs would’ve caught us all if I’d tried to go all the way up to his floor!”

“Bullshit,” Killer spat. 

“I would never--”

 _”Where the fuck is Ryan, Sandman?”_ Killer shoved Pete back. “Are you just gonna leave him in there? Huh? I said it once before; now that you’ve escaped, they’re gonna double up on security. When the hell am I going to get a chance like this again? Never!” He pushed Pete again, sending him stumbling backward. “You made me a promise, and you fucking broke it,” he said, seething. “Don’t ask for my help again. Fuck you, Pete.”

“But--”

“I said, _don’t._ Good luck finding Benzedrine. Maybe in a while, you’ll understand how it feels when someone could help you, but they choose not to.”

“Don’t do this,” Pete begged, scrambling back to his feet. “Brendon, I swear, I never would’ve done it if I didn’t have to. I’ll help you get him back. Please. Don’t walk away now, we need you.”

“I know,” Killer said, scowling. “There’s so much I could still do for you… But I only work with killjoys.” He backed away from Pete, shaking his head. “Killjoys don’t break promises.”

“Brendon.”

“Pete,” said Killer. “I’m sorry. But you never should’ve taken me for granted.”

“I never took you for granted,” Pete tried. “I did everything I could.”

“You know the way to Crybaby’s. I told her to expect you, she shouldn’t be surprised.” Killer shook the dust from his sleeves, his face closing off. “Goodbye, Pete.”

And without another word, he turned and walked away.

Poison didn’t dare speak.

“Fuck,” said Pete, staring after Killer. “Oh, _fuck._ ”

“We should get going,” Poison said carefully. “The dracs’ll be out soon.”

“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right. Shit.” Pete rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, let’s go. Follow me.” He turned in the opposite direction from Killer and started walking down the street, the others trailing behind him. 

They were finally free, but for some reason, it didn’t feel as good as Poison had thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all those who comment will earn my eternal love ;w;


	5. You're Still Here, I'm Still There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: so, as of 12/5/17, i've just found out that melanie martinez is a piece of shit. please try and think of crybaby as a separate character. i don't want this 'verse to be in any way associated with melanie anymore.

It had been a long time since Poison had freely walked the streets of Battery City. The atmosphere had changed noticeably since his childhood. Once, he would have been terrified to be caught remotely near the Lobby, but now, it felt safer than anywhere else in the city. Behind windows, under the streets, there were people-- not dracs or scarecrows, but juviehalls. Rebels. They hadn’t been around when he was young. In his extended absence, they had gained a presence, and they were powerful in their lack of fear.

Pete took the lead, guiding the former patients through the city with the utmost caution. In the distance, alarms were blaring; they were being searched for. Pete looked like all he wanted to do was crawl under a rock and disappear, but he stayed his pace. They were headed deep into the Lobby when the girl appeared.

She seemed to pop out of thin air. One moment, they were walking alone, then, she was standing before them, teal-haired and anxious. “Sandman!” she said, rushing forward. “I heard the sirens, what's going on?” There were weapons strapped to nearly every inch of her body. Poison adjusted his stance on instinct; he was locked, loaded, and ready to fight.

“Hey, Americana,” Pete said tiredly. Poison relaxed a little. If Pete knew her, she couldn't be too much of a threat. “We’re going to Crybaby’s. BLi found out about our plan, we had to hit the red line before they killed us.”

The girl pursed her lips, her gaze raking across Poison, Gabe, Tyler, and Bob.

“I’ll lead you through the underground, it’ll get you there faster.” She stepped out into the street and crouched down, grasping the handle of a metal plate and hauling it aside. Poison never would have noticed it on his own. Beneath it was a pit that must have led to some kind of maintenance tunnel. She smiled up at Pete, then jumped inside. After a moment, a faint _clunk_ sounded from below.

“Well?” she said, her voice echoing. “You coming?”

“I don't like this,” Tyler murmured.

“It's okay,” said Pete. “She's a friend.” He sat down at the edge of the hole, bracing himself before slipping down. None of the others looked too keen to follow, so Poison went next, dropping down into the blackness before he could think twice.

The open air rushed past for only a split second before his feet hit the ground. He stumbled, grabbing onto Pete’s shoulder to right himself. 

“Watch out,” Gabe said from the street above. “I’m comin’ in hot!”

He jumped down and landed, catlike, beside Poison. “Damn,” he said, his voice bouncing from the walls. “This place is gloomy.”

“Hold on,” said the girl. Something went _click_ , and a bright light flared in the darkness. Poison clapped his hands over his eyes, wincing at the sudden glare.

“Shit, you couldn't have warned us?”

She laughed, the flashlight casting eerie shadows across her face. “Sorry about that.” She adjusted the beam so it pointed downwards, sticking it under her arm. “I don't think we've met. I’m New Americana, nice to meet you.”

“Party Poison,” he mumbled, still pressing his fingers to his burning eyes.

“Yeah, I know who you are.” She laughed again, the sound interrupted by the sudden appearance of Tyler, who plummeted through the trapdoor and crashed to the ground.

“Sorry,” he squeaked. “Not used to this.”

He scrambled to his feet just in time to sidestep Bob, who dropped down beside him. 

“We’re all here,” said Pete. “Let’s get moving.”

Americana nodded, reaching up to pull the trapdoor closed. “You’ve got a lot of dracs on your tail. Killer King told me to expect something like this, but I didn't think it would be so soon. What happened up there?”

Pete winced at the mention of Killer’s name. “I'm not quite sure. Doctor Addy found out about us somehow; it all went Costa Rica from there. Dracs all over the place. We would've been blotches on the pavement if we didn't get out as quick as we did.”

“Hmm.” Americana started off down the tunnel, the flashlight’s beam bobbing up and down as she walked. “Doctor Addy… Doesn’t ring a bell. Should we be worried about her?”

“Yes,” said Bob. It was the first word he’d spoken since their escape. Poison glanced back at him; he was plodding along at the back of the group, staring at the ground. His eyes were hidden by shadow, but the bleakness in his voice was unmistakable. “She’s… different. Not like the Director. I don't know, something about her just gives me a bad feeling.”

Americana nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll keep an eye out. Between me, Killer, and the rest of the faction leaders, we can probably dig up some dirt on her.”

“Yeah… about that,” said Pete hesitantly. “I’m not sure Killer’s going to want to help us anymore.”

Americana raised her eyebrows. “And why would that be?”

Their footsteps clacked against the floor of the tunnel. 

“I had to make a choice,” Pete said finally. “It was either try to save everyone and get them all killed in the process, or…”

“Leave some behind so the others could survive,” Americana finished. “God. I’m so sorry, Sandman. That’s not a decision anyone should have to make.”

“I’m not sure I did the right thing.”

“No one ever is,” she said with a shrug. “You just have to keep moving forward. Survivor’s guilt is a beast; you can't let it consume you. Even if you don’t get the chance to go back and save the others, you at least managed to saw a few lives. That’s something.”

“It's not enough,” said Pete.

“Killer will come around,” Americana said sympathetically. “He’s a good guy, and so are you. Life is the real villain here. It’s screwed you both over.”

Pete made a noncommittal noise. He didn’t look at all convinced. Poison opened his mouth to offer some sort of reassurance, but quickly thought better of it. Pete wasn’t going to listen to anyone, not while he was still convinced that this was his fault.

_It sort of is, though._

Poison didn’t know what to think. Pete had made a decision that would have terrible repercussions; that much was undeniable. But at the same time, he had allowed a few people to escape with their lives. Poison owed him a debt of gratitude, and besides, he understood what it was like to make decisions under pressure. It was a terrible feeling, the weight of responsibility crushing down on you as you raced for a solution, hoping in vain that you made the right choice. Poison couldn’t know for sure that he would have chosen any differently if he was in Pete’s place. Blaming him would be hypocritical.

Besides, they had no time to waste on fighting amongst themselves. What really mattered was that they were free. Now that they were no longer confined to the Third Eye, they could accomplish more than ever before, and in order to do so, they would need to act as a united front. Poison didn’t trust easily, but he had faith in Pete. They would fix this. 

And as soon as they did, they would take the city by storm.

“Almost there,” said Americana, pointing her flashlight down the tunnel. “That’s the junction up ahead.”

Poison squinted through the darkness. Whatever Americana was pointing to, he couldn’t see it. His eyes were accustomed to the sun’s blistering rays, not this impenetrable gloom. He could make out silhouettes, and some varying shades of black, but his night vision was far from extraordinary. 

“Wait,” said Pete. He tapped Americana’s shoulder. She paused and looked back at him, her eyes luminous as they reflected the light.

“What’s up?”

“Just need to get them ready,” Pete explained. He turned to face his friends, his face hardening. “We’re about to meet one of the more influential juviehalls of this city. Actually, we’ve already met one of them.” He gestured to Americana. “But Crybaby is different. She’s a little… volatile. Just let me do the talking, okay? She’ll probably want us to work for her in exchange for letting us stay here. I’ll negotiate a little, make sure we can keep trying to infiltrate the rehabilitation centers, you know.”

“Infiltrate the rehab centers?” asked Americana, impressed. “Like, to break the killjoys free? Wow. That’s a big job.”

“I know,” Pete said, a little sharply. “But it’s well worth it.”

Americana held up her hands. “Hey, I’m not complaining. If you want to give it a go, more power to you. I’d like to be in the room when you dish out the details on this plan.”

“I’d like that as well,” said Pete, relaxing. “You think Crybaby’s gonna listen?”

Americana shrugged. “Who can say? I’ll put in a good word for you, though.” With that, the discussion seemed to end. She resumed her previous pace, heading yet further down into the tunnel. After a few minutes of walking, she stopped, and a ways ahead, a second light blinked on. Poison winced and averted his eyes. 

“Who’s there?” asked a voice. 

“New Americana,” Americana replied. She held her chin high, somehow looking directly into the light that shone upon them. In a moment, it lowered, and Poison cautiously looked towards the source. 

A man in a black leather jacket was leaning against the wall, staring at them with open curiosity. “Who’d you pick up?”

Americana scoffed. “You’ve gotten dumber since I last saw you, Snake. Take a closer look.”

The man’s eyes flickered to Poison, and he let out a low whistle. “Damn. You don’t see that every day… Did you just scoop ‘em up off the street, or are people making plans without telling me again?”

“Both,” Americana replied. “Can you let us through? We need to see Crybaby.”

“Sure.” The man stepped aside, revealing an opening in the wall; inside, a ladder led even further underground. Americana grabbed onto it and began to descend.

“What, so you aren’t even going to explain?” the man said, insulted.

“Nope. Get yourself a promotion, then maybe I will. For now, just sit tight.” Americana pointed her flashlight at her face to wink before she continued downwards. Pete followed her down the ladder, then Poison, then Gabe, Bob, and Tyler.

Once they reached the bottom, Americana clicked her flashlight off. This tunnel was much more well-lit. A series of dingy fluorescent lights stretched as far as the eye could see. Every now and again, they would flicker out, then spark back to life, surging brighter for just a moment before dimming again. 

In the center of the tunnel there was a wide track, set several feet lower than the platforms on either side. “Watch your step,” Americana instructed. “The tracks are electrified; if you fall, you’re toast. Literally. They’ll burn you to a crisp.” Poison gave the edge a wide berth. Americana grinned. “What, you scared? Don’t tell me you’ve never ridden the rails before.”

“I really hope that was a rhetorical statement,” said Poison. “When the hell would I have?”

“Don’t worry, it was,” Americana said with a hint of smugness. “You zone rats, you just don’t get it. I don’t know what it is you do for thrills out there, but I gotta say, it can’t be nearly as good as the shit we’ve got. You haven’t lived ‘til you’ve jumped over a moving train.”

“Is that a _challenge_?” said Poison, his face splitting into a wicked grin. “Oh, honey, don’t even get me started.”

“I gotta side with Poison on this one,” said Pete. “City life might have its perks, but come _on._ You know it can’t compare to the desert.”

“I bet you couldn’t shoot down a drac from the roof of a building,” Americana sniffed. “From three blocks away. At _night._ ”

“I bet you couldn’t shoot one from the window of a moving car,” Poison fired back. “While they’re shooting back. And you’re _driving._ ”

“I bet I could!”

Tyler giggled. “Are you sure?”

“What, you think there aren’t any cars in the city?” Americana said scornfully. “Maybe you do have some good stuff out there, but so do we. You’re gonna have to learn to do things our way.” The killjoys were beginning to protest when she suddenly ran ahead, rapping her knuckles on a section of the wall. It opened up to reveal a door, and she hopped inside, slamming it behind her.

“Did she just shut us out?” Bob asked, shocked.

“No, she’s just making fun of us,” said Gabe. They came up to the door, and he knocked on it just as Americana had. It cracked open, and she peeped out at them.

“Password?”

Gabe arched an eyebrow. “Password? Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously!” she huffed. “We have a system here. You’ll just be standing there ‘til you figure it out, so you’d better get cracking.”

Poison didn’t know if he was more impressed or annoyed. It took dedication for someone to be this irritating.

“Is this because they insulted your stupid train?” Bob whined. “We’re sorry, just let us in!”

“It’s just protocol,” Americana answered, smirking. “Like I said. Figure it out, or find someplace else to go.”

“But it could be anything!” Tyler protested. 

“That’s true. But Crybaby picks the passwords, and she tends to adhere to certain themes…” Americana looked him up and down. “You need a hint?”

“Yes,” he said.

Her gaze flicked over to Gabe. “Normally, I’d say ‘You must be this tall to ride this ride,’ but I don’t really think that would apply to _that_ one.”

“Is that all we get?” Bob asked. 

“Yup,” said Americana, smiling sweetly. 

“But that’s barely anything!” Tyler said weakly.

“It’s enough,” said Pete. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, looking thoughtful. “I’ve never come here myself, but Killer’s told me about it, enough for me to get a sense of the theme. One time, he said the password was ‘dollhouse.’”

Americana scowled. “You’re not supposed to tell anyone the passwords. It’s a rule.”

“Well, I’d rather have him break a rule than stand out here for hours trying to figure out your little trick,” Pete sighed. “Let’s see… ‘To ride this ride.’ That’s a carnival thing, right?”

“No more hints,” she said.

“Carnival,” Pete said to himself. “Fair, park, midway… Shit. Maybe that wasn’t enough, there’s still so many possibilities.”

“Maybe it’s about the actual rides?” Poison suggested. 

“Maybe,” said Gabe. “Like, it could be ‘rollercoaster’ or something.”

“Nah,” said Pete, waving a hand dismissively. “That’s not her style. It’d be something smaller, like a kiddie ride.”

“Like a carousel?” Tyler piped. 

The door popped open.

Pete poked it open all the way, looking impressed. “Nice job.”

“I shouldn’t have given you that hint,” Americana said, disappointed. “That was way too easy. I expected it to take longer. Oh, well. Whatever.” She waved them inside. “C’mon, I’ll show you around!”

Poison stepped inside, and the grimy atmosphere of the tunnel vanished.

They were standing in the middle of what looked like a waiting room. The walls were covered in a faintly patterned paper, and towards the back was a counter, behind which a man was trying and failing to look uninterested. A book sat open in front of him, but his eyes weren’t moving. Poison knew eavesdropping when he saw it.

“This is where the sausage gets made,” Americana announced. “Anyone who’s anyone around here does their business within these walls. It’s not as classy as my place, but it gets the job done.”

“You’ve got a place like this, too?” said Tyler. His mouth hung open in awe as he looked around the room. “How do you get away with it? I wouldn’t think something like this was possible… How do you keep BLi from finding it?”

She winked. “Tricks of the trade, my friend. Don’t get the wrong idea; not everyone has their own base. I’m just famous.”

The man behind the counter coughed. Poison thought it sounded a lot like “And modest, too.”

Americana rolled her eyes, turning to him. “You keep your mouth shut.”

“If I did that, I wouldn’t be doing my job,” he said, smiling. He pushed his book aside. “It’s my duty to talk your ear off. You want obnoxious questions, just call my name, I’ll be there. What’s the password? Why should I let you in? Do you have any association with Better Living Industries, perhaps the kind that’d lead you here on a mission of extermination? If so, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. No rebels here, no, none at all, sir.”

“I might not be the leader of this particular base, but I think I have enough authority to tell you to shut the fuck up,” said Americana, exasperated. “Jeez.” She turned to Pete, pointing to the man behind the counter. “That’s Brobeck, everyone’s favorite glorified secretary.”

“I’m a _security guard_ ,” Brobeck complained.

“Same difference. Anyway, try to remember the passwords, or he won’t let you in.”

“How do we find out the passwords?” Pete asked.

“You stick around,” Americana said simply. “Once you’re in the loop, you just kind of figure things out. It’s a network. You hear stuff through the grapevine. Most of the time it’s reliable, unless Baby Snake decides to start playing pranks again.”

“He’s just jealous because he doesn’t get to guard the actual base,” Brobeck muttered.

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure it’s his dream to be a secretary like you. Are you going to let us through now, or what?” Americana raised her eyebrows pointedly.

“One of these days you’ll start treating me with respect,” Brobeck sniffed. He tapped something behind the counter, and the wall behind it shifted; a section of it slid away, forming yet another door. “Crybaby’s probably in her office.”

“Thanks!” Americana ruffled his hair as she passed by, laughing as he jerked away. “Come on, Sandman. We’ve got a meeting to attend. Well, no, that makes it sound like this was planned. We’ve got a party to crash!”

She led them down a long hall. On either side, steel doors were set at regular intervals. Poison couldn’t help but wonder what lay behind them. The only markings he could see were stickers; ducks, rabbits, flowers. A few of them sat innocently on each door, pastel colors against the gleaming metal.

It was sort of unnerving.

Americana stopped walking. Set at the very end of the hall was another door, larger than the rest. A sticker depicting a birthday cake had been slapped onto it. She produced a card from who-knows-where and inserted it into a slot beside the door. It beeped, and the door hissed open.

“Who is it?” someone called from inside. “If you’re here to complain about the food, you can turn around and leave. We all hate it, but it’s the best we’ve got.”

Americana laughed. “Is that how you greet someone?” She beckoned for Poison and the others to follow her, and they stepped inside. The door slid shut behind them, locking firmly into place.

“Americana!” said the voice, pleased. 

Poison glanced up to the speaker, then did a double take.

He’d seen plenty of oddities in his day, but they had all been in the zones, where _bizarre_ was synonymous with _beautiful_. The same couldn’t be said for the city. All the juviehalls he had seen so far had been dressed in pure black. Americana, with her bulletproof vest and holsters galore; the man from the tunnel, with his leather jacket; and Brobeck, with his dark blazer. It was like they had a dress code. 

But if they did, the girl smiling at Americana was breaking every rule.

She looked like a perfect little porcelain doll; short and curvy, with a face full of makeup. Her hair was tied into two gigantic pigtails. One was jet black, the other bright pink. She maneuvered around her desk to give Americana a hug, and Poison got a glimpse of a fluffy pink dress before she was enveloped in Americana’s arms.

“It’s been too long,” the girl scolded. “Would it kill you to pay a visit once in a while?”

“Aww, did you miss me?” Americana teased. “You know, you could always come to _my_ base. Why do I have to be the one to make the trip?”

“Because it doesn’t really matter if you leave,” the girl said sweetly. “Your crew hardly gets anything done. But me, I’ve got to be here all the time, supervising.”

Americana snorted. “Oh, please. As if _you’re_ the parental figure here.”

“Parental? Fuck no,” the girl giggled. “But authoritative, that’s another story. Anyway. What’s up, what brought you over here?”

Americana disentangled herself from the girl’s arms and presented her with a flourish. “This, my friends, is Crybaby.”

“Ooooh,” said Crybaby. “I know who you are.” She pointed to Pete, smirking. “You’re the ones Killer King was going on about. You want to break into the rehab centers, right? Fuck with the establishment? That’s a killjoy for you.”

“Yes, that’s what we want to do,” said Pete. “Can you help us?”

Crybaby hopped onto the edge of her desk, swinging her feet back and forth. “That depends. Can you help me?”

“What would you need help with?”

Crybaby rolled her eyes. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Sandman. That is your name, right? You see, Mr. Sandman, there aren’t a lot of rebels in Battery City. Most of the citizens are too hopped up on pills to see what’s really going on, so we make up the minority. And in order for anyone to see through BLi’s haze, they’ve got to have a particularly powerful spark. So, take a base like this. It’s filled with people, all of whom have that special spirit that sets them apart from the ritalin rats and the zombies. They’re all raring to go, itching to fight, and they’re cooped up underground while a girl who wears footie pajamas bosses them around.” She quirked an eyebrow. “And you ask me what I need help with?”

“That still doesn’t really tell us anything,” said Poison. “What exactly do you need us to do?” 

Crybaby shrugged. “It would vary. You could help me with paperwork, run deliveries, defend boundaries. You’d probably be sent to intercept BLi’s shipments a few times. There might be some scuffles over turf. You know, just standard management stuff. Killer King said you’d be up to it. Really, the deal is already sealed.”

“I see,” Pete said slowly. “What are we getting in return, then?”

“A place to stay. People at your back. Resources.” Crybaby grinned. “You’re getting the better end of this deal. You’ll get to go on your quest to free the dust angels, and then you can be on your merry way out to the zones.”

Poison frowned. “You’re giving us all that in exchange for a little help around the house?” Pete shot him a warning look.

Crybaby laughed. “Oh, it’s more than a little, trust me… And your friend Killer may have paid me off. But otherwise, yes. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Party Poison.” 

Poison scowled, but Pete jumped in before he could say anything. “Thank you. We appreciate what you’re doing for us.”

“Yeah, yeah. Butter me up all you want.” Crybaby slid off her desk and went back to sit in her chair, kicking her feet up. “So. What’s your grand plan? I heard you want to target the Crystal Ball.”

“We’ll start by infiltrating it and replacing the patients’ pills with decoys,” Poison said quickly, before Pete could begin explaining. “Once they’re not addicted, they’re a lot more receptive to our plans. After that, we start planning an escape, and we bust them out.”

“Simple,” Crybaby observed. “Although, you'll have to get ahold of all that medication. How do you plan on doing that?”

Poison shrugged. “Killer did that before. He and Sandman had a bit of a fallout, so he probably won't be helping anymore, but we’ll figure something out. Any plan works.” His face hardened. “Fun Ghoul’s in there. Nothing matters except that we get him out.”

“Passion with a hearty dose of recklessness,” Crybaby said thoughtfully. “Your reputation precedes you… Tell me, Party Poison, what would you do if you were faced with a choice between Fun Ghoul’s life and your own?”

“His,” Poison said immediately.

“Fun Ghoul’s life or the rest of your companions’ lives?” she asked, gesturing to Pete, Gabe, Tyler, and Bob.

_Ghoul. Ghoul, any day._

Poison shifted uncomfortably. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Just curious.” Crybaby smiled, something sinister flickering behind her eyes. “You're a bit of a security risk, you know. I’m only trying to figure out how big a risk you truly are.”

“He won't do anything stupid,” said Pete, glaring at Poison. “We’ll put whatever you want us to do first.”

“Like hell we will,” said Poison. “We just got away from one prison, you want to shut us into another? In case you didn't notice, I don't take orders from _anyone_. The enemy of my enemy isn’t always my friend. If you try and tell me I can’t help Ghoul after I’ve waited all this fucking time, you're gonna be first on my shit list.”

“Careful now,” Crybaby purred. “It’s easier to burn a bridge than it is to build one.”

Pete laid a careful hand on Poison’s shoulder. Poison twitched, but didn't move away. He kept his gaze fixed to Crybaby.

She wanted to play games? He’d play games. 

“I have a question,” he said. She waved for him to continue. 

“Do you have hair dye in this place?”

For a moment, Crybaby looked surprised. Then her lips quirked into a smile, and she busted out laughing. Poison relaxed a little as she attempted to compose herself. She cleared her throat, swallowing a stray giggle.

“I sure hope we’ve got dye, otherwise I’m gonna be wondering what this shit is.” She pointed to the pink section of her hair, her face settling into a satisfied smirk. “I think I like you, Party Poison. Yes, I think I do.”

“Should I show them to their rooms?” Americana asked.

“Go ahead,” said Crybaby. She waved to Poison, fluttering her fingers, then pulled out a book and flipped it open, distinctly ending the conversation.

Pete gravitated straight to Poison as they left Crybaby’s office. “You’re lucky she took a shine to you,” he muttered. “I thought I said _I_ would do the talking?”

“If _you_ had done the talking, we’d be eating out of her hands,” Poison growled. “There’s a difference between respect and submission. I’ll respect her, sure, as long as she does the same. But nothing’s going to get between me and Ghoul. Not anymore.”

Pete bit his lip. “Yeah. I get that.” He looked as if he was about to say something else, but thought better of it.

“It’s two to a room,” Americana interjected. “Who wants to share?”

“I’ll go with whoever,” said Poison.

“We’re an odd number,” Bob said, frowning. “Does that mean one of us will have to share with a stranger?”

Americana smiled. “Yup. Unless you’d rather pile into a group of three.”

“I’ll go with Bob,” Pete offered. “Gabe, you can stay with us, too. Blurryface and Poison, you can take the last room.”

Poison met eyes with Tyler, and they both nodded in agreement.

“Let’s get you settled in, then!” Americana said cheerily. “The sooner you’re set up, the sooner we can start working.”

Poison didn’t know what the word “work” referred to. It was probably something Crybaby had in mind. But as soon as they finished that task, they could move onto their jailbreak…

“Right,” he said. “Let’s get going.”

***

Poison raked his fingers through his hair, ruffling it back and forth until it stood up at all sorts of crazy angles. He didn’t want any trace of neatness left in his appearance. He was free, he was Poison, he was dangerous and dirty and he had _color_ again, fucking _finally._ It wasn’t quite the same shade he’d had in the desert; it hinted a little more towards orange, but he liked it all the same. It was a welcome change from the previous blond. For the first time in ages, he actually felt like himself when he looked in the mirror.

“Are you done?” asked Tyler, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Shut up,” said Poison, grinning at his reflection. When he’d opened their door to find a small tube of dye sitting outside, he’d pounced on it with glee, and Tyler had watched with amusement as he smeared it over his hair. “God, this is gonna look so cool when it dries.”

“You wanna go find someplace to wash it off?” Tyler suggested. “Then we can go show the others.”

“Yeah, sure.” Poison rubbed his hands together, marveling at the red that stained them. He would wash the gunk from his hair, but he’d keep the stains. They felt like home. Home was a place where water was scarce, and colors were prized; if you get them on your skin, they stayed, and you were proud of it. 

Every victory brought Poison one step closer to the zones, and with a good mood shaping his mentality, they didn’t seem far away at all.

Tyler giggled as they slipped out the door. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this. You never looked happy, not even when you were on the meds.”

“That’s ‘cause I wasn’t.” Poison looked around the hall, frowning. “Which way did Americana say the bathroom was?”

She had given them a tour on their way back from Crybaby’s office, showing them the mess hall, infirmary, and various exits. “All the gateways are guarded,” she had explained. “But you should steer clear of them. Oh, and don't stray too far from the main tunnels. It's really easy to get lost if you don't know the way.”

Tyler pointed down the hall. “I think it's this way.” Poison made careful note of their location before they set off, but in the end, he didn't need to worry. The bathroom was nearby, just where Tyler had said it would be.

“You make a good compass,” Poison said approvingly. “Remind me to have you on hand if I get lost.”

He pushed the door open, heading straight for the sink. The faucet was small, and when he turned the handle, the water came out ice cold. “Fuck, how am I gonna do this?”

“With difficulty,” said Tyler, laughing again. Poison stuck his tongue out and began scooping handfuls of cold water into his head. It ran in crimson streaks down his neck, splashing his shirt with red spots like blood. Poison didn't care. It was a vast improvement from the pure white. He ran his fingers along the color, watching as the dye soaked through. He could feel the spot where a bug had previously been contained. It was a tiny pocket, the smallest rip in the fabric. As soon as they had broken free of the Third Eye, Pete had ordered them to destroy any bugs they could find, and Poison had relished the feeling of stamping the device into the pavement. 

“Hey, Poison?” asked Tyler, pulling him from his daydreams. “Can I ask you something?”

Poison raised an eyebrow, pouring another handful of water into his hair. “Depends. If you want the rest of my dye, I’m gonna have to say no.”

Tyler laughed. “No, its… it's not that.” He edged closer to Poison, making hesitant eye contact through the mirror. “I was taken from the desert before you. Do you remember?”

“Yeah.” Poison couldn't have forgotten it. Blurryface hadn't gone quietly-- he'd been taken kicking and screaming. “Why?”

“What was it like, after I got taken?” Tyler asked quietly. “What happened?”

Poison ducked his head down, partly to let his hair drip into the sink, and partly to avoid Tyler’s gaze. He knew exactly what Tyler was asking.

“You're talking about Message Man, huh?”

“Um, yeah. I am. Is he okay? I know you probably didn't pay much attention to us, but did you ever, like, hear anything--”

“He’s fine,” said Poison, squeezing a river of red from his hair. The water was starting to run a little more clearly. He straightened up, offering Tyler a small smile. “I don't know what happened after I left, so don't get your hopes up, but the last time I heard his name, it wasn't anything bad.” He couldn't tell Tyler not to worry. It had been a long time since either of them had seen the desert; how much time, he didn't know. It was surely long enough for things to have gone awry. But at the same time, he couldn’t just tell Tyler to prepare for the worst.

Tyler looked relieved. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah, whatever. You’ll be able to make sure of it soon enough. We won’t be staying here much longer, not as long as I have a say in it. Now, stand back.” Tyler backed away so Poison could shake some of the moisture from his hair. Now that it was short, it would probably dry faster. He checked out his reflection, eyeing the wet strands with approval. “Shiny. Let’s go show it off.”

They located Pete’s room quickly, seeing as it was directly beside their own. Poison knocked as loudly as he could. The doors were made of heavy metal, and normally, he would need an ID to get inside, but Americana had temporarily disabled the security so they could freely enter and exit. It was weirdly reminiscent of the Third Eye. Poison definitely didn’t like it, but he didn’t like getting ambushed by dracs, either, so he would bear it. 

“Open up!” he hollered. He continued knocking until the door slid open, Pete looking mildly confused. 

“What’s-- oh!” He grinned, taking in Poison’s new color. “Crybaby wasn’t lying, then! That’s fuckin’ milkshakes, dude, nice job.”

“It does look pretty awesome,” Poison agreed. “You should go pink again if you get the chance.”

“I was thinking about that,” said Pete. “I might wanna try bleaching instead.” He rolled his eyes at the disgusted face Poison made. “I know, I know. I’m just saying, blond isn’t a federal fucking issue for me like it was for you. For me, it’s like, my natural color is black, so the best way to shove it in BLi’s face is to go for the polar opposite, right?”

“I _guess_ ,” Poison said reluctantly. “But the pink was cool.”

Pete shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll do something new. C’mon in, there’s something you should see.”

Tyler stepped in first, followed by Poison, who was almost immediately jumped by Gabe. 

“Dude! Your hair! Oh my god, I love it! Can I get in on that action?”

Pete shoved him away. “Maybe if you give us a minute of peace.”

“What are you, my dad?” Gabe pouted. “If so, you’ve been pretty damn absent my whole life. You’d better give me a bigger allowance to make up for it.”

Pete rolled his eyes. He ushered Poison over to a desk in the corner, pointing to the screen of a computer that sat on top. “Check this out. This place has an index of tumbleweeds and the goods they’re carrying. Look, Killer’s on it.” He tapped the screen, where the name “Killer King” was listed next to a string of products and areas, ranging from Zone 3 to Battery City.

“Right,” Poison murmured. “And I care about this… why?”

“Because,” said Pete, exasperated. “We need to get familiar with it if we’re going to work for Crybaby. Plus, if we can get in touch with any of the tumbleweeds we used to know, we can get news directly from the desert.”

“Yes!” Tyler burst out. “Yeah, let’s do that!”

Poison considered this. “Okay, you’ve got me.” He settled into the desk chair, taking a closer look at the index. It had a section devoted to activity within Battery City, as well as one for the zones. He started in on the city database, making a mental note to investigate the desert later on. He wasn’t sure he was ready for it yet. 

In the corner of his eye, he saw Tyler plop down into one of the bunks beside Bob. The two struck up a quiet conversation, which Gabe eventually joined, at which point it became much less quiet. Poison wasn’t really paying attention to them. He was reading, absorbing as much information as he possibly could. He didn’t appreciate the authority Crybaby seemed to think she had over them, but if working for her would bring him closer to Ghoul, he would put his all into it.

His eyes were hurting from staring at the screen when Pete finally grabbed his attention again. 

“Dude, you’ve been reading through that thing for ages. Take a break.”

Poison could only manage a vague hum of agreement. Pete laughed. “You should probably take a nap, too.”

“What time is it?” Poison looked up from the screen, squinting at the sudden change of lighting. 

“Almost eleven. I wasn’t kidding when I said _ages._ ” Pete pointed to the bunks. Tyler had fallen asleep sitting up; he was slumped on a snoring Bob, Gabe lying dead to the world beside them. “I’m gonna turn in soon, you should do the same.”

“Mm-hmm.” Poison glanced over at the empty bunk. “I don’t want to go back to the other room. I feel like splitting up is a bad idea.”

“The sentiment is shared.” Pete paused. “So…”

“I’m not sharing,” Poison said bluntly. “I’ll take the floor.”

“Oh, you motherfucker,” Pete grumbled. “Now you’re gonna keep me up all night feeling guilty.”

“Hey, it’s not like I’m not used to crashing on the floor. It’s no big deal.” Poison slid out of the chair, shaking out his legs, which had gone slightly numb. He grabbed a pillow from the empty bed, laying it on the ground and then dropping down beside it. “G’night. Wake me up if I start screaming.”

“Same,” said Pete.

It could have been a joke, but they both knew it wasn’t.

***

Poison woke to someone toeing at his side.

“Get up, asshole, it’s time for work!” said Gabe. He gave Poison a light kick, ignoring how he groaned. “Come on, we even get to have breakfast first! How cool is that?”

“Have you never had breakfast before?” Poison grumbled. He wanted to plant his face right back into the pillow. Sleeping in was a luxury he rarely experienced, and he wasn’t one to turn down the opportunity. But it looked like everyone else had already woken up. He didn’t want to keep them waiting. 

He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. When he stretched out his arms, something cracked, and Tyler visibly winced. Poison grinned. 

“Sorry, does that make you _uncomfortable_?” he asked, pressing on his knuckles until they popped one by one. 

“Don’t be gross,” Bob complained. “Just go get dressed, then we can leave. There should be a change of clothes in your room.” 

Poison grabbed onto the edge of Bob’s bed to pull himself up. “Sure, motorbaby.” He took a moment to look over his clothes. His shirt was still stained red with dye; he probably looked like a horror movie come to life, while the others were already outfitted in black. It was a shame he’d have to trade in his look for something so drab.

Pete grinned, as if he could read Poison’s mind. “Just go change.” He glanced out the door, and his smile faded a little. “Here. Take these.”

He tossed a small bottle to Poison, who caught it easily, turning it over to inspect the label. Pills. Of course. 

“Where’d you get these?”

Pete shrugged. “Every time Killer got us a new bottle, I saved a couple, just in case. That’s what’s left. We’ll be running on those until we can buy more.”

“Oh. Okay.” Poison had never warmed to the practice of pill popping; he still found it abhorrent beyond belief. But these weren’t the same as the shit from the Third Eye. They were the weaker kind; they wouldn’t fog up his brain so much. Eventually, he wouldn’t need them at all. 

Of course, none of that really made a difference. They were still pills. 

“You want one of us to come with you?” Pete asked.

“Nah, I’m… I’ll be okay.” Poison shook away the discomfort, then yanked the door open, heading back to the room he and Tyler were meant to share. 

Once he was alone, he stood in front of his mirror, examining the face that stared back at him. In the past, there had been a sort of disconnect between him and the image of himself. Each time he looked at his reflection, he’d felt as if he was looking at a stranger. But now that he was out of the Third Eye, it was like the chains had been lifted; his eyes burned almost as bright as they used to. He was stronger now. The pills couldn’t take his identity, not anymore.

Poison cracked open the bottle and tipped one onto his palm. His first instinct was to crush it between his fingers or throw it away, but instead, he swallowed it down, not taking his eyes off the mirror.

Someone pounded on his door. “What’s taking you so long?” Bob said from the other side. “That girl Americana told us not to be late or we’d miss out on the good food.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Poison set the bottle on his desk and left the room. Outside, he found not only Bob waiting for him, but their entire team. “Well,” he said dryly. “I can see you all trust me out of your sight for two minutes.”

“Of course we don’t,” Pete said cheerfully. “You’d fall apart without us.” He tugged Poison down the hall, and they made their way to the mess hall. 

When they arrived, the room was filled with a smattering of juviehalls seated at long tables. At the entrance of the killjoys, they looked up with interest, their eyes lingering especially on Poison. He raised an eyebrow at them.

_What’re you looking at?_

But though they were unmistakably being watched, no one made any attempt to talk to them. They ate in near silence, Pete murmuring back and forth with Gabe about something or other. Poison was nearly suffocating from the tension when the door slammed open.

“Why’s everyone so quiet today?” Americana demanded, her hands on her hips. “We have guests! That means we treat them nice, not stare at them like creeps!”

“It’s okay,” said Poison, swinging his legs over the bench to stand. “We were just leaving. Bob said something about work?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a job for you. But,” Americana eyed her fellow juviehalls severely, “We’ll have to work on your people skills.”

With a huff, she escorted the killjoys from the room. They made their way out of the sleek corridors of the base, passing through the waiting room to the tunnels outside. 

“You’re going topside?” Brobeck asked as they passed by, his feet propped up onto his counter. His eyes flicked up from the screens displaying security feeds from all across the city. “How come?” 

“Showing them the ropes,” said Americana, jerking a thumb at the killjoys. “We should be back in an hour or two.”

Brobeck nodded and returned his gaze to the feeds. 

The door slid open, and Americana led them out into the exterior tunnels. Her flashlight clicked on to illuminate the cold cement. They walked through the darkness for what felt like a mile before she ordered them to stop.

“Our exit’s here.” She angled her flashlight beam towards the wall, revealing a circular handle set into a door. Gabe whistled with admiration.

“How’d you know that was there? You must have this place memorized.”

“Of course I do,” she answered. “I don’t want to get lost and end up wandering into BLi’s basement, do I?”

Americana twisted the handle and yanked the door open. Behind it was a ladder, which she hopped onto and scaled in only a few seconds. Light filtered down from the street above. Poison hauled himself up next, wincing in the sudden brightness. He had to cover his eyes for a minute until they adjusted. 

“You’ll get used to the transition,” said Americana, amused. “You’ve gotta earn your tunnel vision through experience. Once you start traveling more, it gets easier.”

“Is it much farther?” asked Pete. “Where are we even going?”

“To meet up with a tumbleweed,” Americana said, grinning. “I’m gonna show you how trade works around here. Usually, it’s sort of a big operation. We have to intercept shipments and do paperwork and make trips to the zones, shit like that. But today’s is a fairly simple transaction. We’re buying, not bartering.” Once the others had come up through the trapdoor, she pulled a grate down over it, setting a brisk pace out into the street. 

It felt strange to be aboveground again. Surrounded by the dirty stone of the tunnels, one could barely remember that they were technically within Battery City. But with the white buildings all around, BLi’s logo flashing from shop windows, it was impossible to forget. Poison kept his muscles taut as he walked, prepared to spring into battle at any moment.

“Chill,” said Americana. “We’re not gonna get attacked.”

“You can’t know that,” Poison said tersely. “They’re looking for us, they must be.”

“Oh, they are. Your little escape made some big waves. But the cams in this area are basically defunct, and I doubt BLi’s managed to send repair crews all over the city in twenty-four hours,” Americana said confidently. “We’ll be fine. Plus,” she gestured to the guns strapped to her thighs, “We’re not exactly defenseless.”

“Not at all,” Pete agreed, slipping a ray gun from his sleeve. Poison recognized it as the same one he’d used in the escape. Pete saw him looking, and handed it over before Poison could say a thing.

Poison turned it over in his hands, examining every detail. It looked like a Demon Shark; the same brand he’d once used, but a newer model. It was coated with purple paint, with a batlike design on the butt and the word “clandestine” written across the barrel.

“It’s mine,” Pete explained. “Killer managed to get his hands on it after I was taken to the city, he kept it safe for me.” 

Poison wondered what had happened to his old gun. It was probably lost; confiscated or destroyed by BLi. 

Pete seemed to read his mind. “We could get you a new one,” he offered. “We wouldn’t even have to leave the city.”

Poison hesitated. He did need a weapon, but he didn’t want something from the city. The relationship between a killjoy and their ray gun was something extremely personal. It was easy to get attached to a weapon once it had saved your life, and the more you relied on it, the more it meant. It was like an extension of yourself. Poison didn’t want that sort of connection with anything from Battery City. He’d prefer to wait until they got out to the zones again, where he could choose his own zap and paint it however he wanted. 

But then again, if he didn’t have something to protect himself with, he might not make it back to the zones. 

“Okay,” he said. “Yeah, that sounds cool.”

“You’ll have to start earning some cash if you wanna buy a blaster,” said Americana, who had been listening. She smiled. “Good thing I’m about to show you how.”

She turned down another street, and suddenly, over the rooftops of factories and office buildings, Poison could see the outer edge of the city. It was just like he remembered it. An wall circled around the city limits, creating a stark divide between those trapped within and those shut out. It felt odd to see it from the inside. Poison could remember driving through the sand with the wall in his peripheral vision, but seeing it in the midst of the city skyline was a completely different experience. Americana kept walking towards it, eventually stopping before a dilapidated building. 

“Here’s our drop spot,” she said. She crept around the corner of the building and leaned against the wall, staring up at the sky. “And now… we wait.”

They stood in silence for a few minutes.

“How long do we wait?” asked Bob. 

Americana shrugged. “It shouldn’t be too long. He might’ve gotten held up, but that almost never happens. He’ll be here in a few minutes.” 

“Who’s ‘him?’” Pete said curiously.

“I’m him!” a voice chirped. Poison startled. A man had snuck up behind them as they waited, quiet as a shadow. He grinned cheerfully, waving to them all before patting Americana’s shoulder.

“I got the goods. You got the cash?”

“Yeah.” Americana unbuckled one of her holsters and pulled out a bundle of carbons wound with a tight rubber band. She passed them to him, then turned back to the killjoys. “This is Max. He mostly works within the city, we buy stuff from him sometimes.”

“Max?” said Pete, perplexed. “No alias?”

“Max _is_ my alias,” Max corrected him. “Nobody ever said your fake name had to be something crazy. This works as well as anything else. Plus, it makes it harder for BLi to track me down, because it’s such a common name. They aren’t expecting someone to use something so bland as their alias.” 

“Damn. That’s… actually pretty smart,” said Pete, impressed. 

“You need to be smart if you’re constantly having to outwit BLi,” said Max. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle, which he passed to Americana. “I’ve got to be on the run again soon. Same time, same place?”

Americana nodded. “See you next week.”

Max waved goodbye and backed away, turning to run behind the building and disappear from view. Poison stared after him. 

“He was the first one to not treat us like zoo animals.”

“Thank god,” Pete mumbled. “I swear, the next person to gawk at me is gonna get a real good look at my fist.”

“Max is chill,” said Americana. “He definitely knows who you are, but he doesn’t really care. His connection to the desert isn’t that strong. He just… doesn’t idolize it the way a lot of people do, I guess. He doesn’t worship you guys.”

“I think he’s my favorite out of all the juviehalls I’ve met,” Poison said fondly. “It feels so good to be ignored for once.”

Tyler giggled. “You’re not being ignored, you’re just being treated like a normal person.”

“Same thing, ain’t it?” Poison looked down to the bottle in Americana’s hands. “So, what’d you get?”

“Me? Oh, this isn’t for me.” Americana tossed the bottle to him. The contents rattled around as it landed in Poison’s hand.

“Pills. Are they for us?”

Americana smiled. “No.”

Poison took a closer look at the bottle. It looked exactly the same as the ones they’d taken in the Third Eye. “Who are they for, then?”

“Whoever you want to give them to.”

Poison’s head snapped up. “You mean--”

“Yes. Crybaby gave us the go-ahead to start infiltrating the Crystal Ball. As soon as we can make a plan to break in, we can start healing the killjoys.” Americana frowned. “Don’t get too excited, though. Planning might take a while. Killer was the expert on the rehab centers, and I’m having trouble getting ahold of him.”

“We’ll find a way,” Poison said firmly. “Sandman and I can help. We don’t need Killer to get in.”

“We should probably wait for him, though,” Bob said nervously. “I mean, what about all his gear? We never would’ve made it out if we didn’t have him looping the cameras and stuff.”

Poison glared at him. “We’ll make do without it. It doesn’t matter how, we just have to try.”

“Compromise,” said Americana. “We give Killer another week or two to get his head on straight, and if he doesn’t stop by, _then_ we start moving.”

“Fuck no! If you wanted to wait, you shouldn’t have told me what was going on,” Poison snapped. 

“If she’d done that, you would’ve flipped out on her for withholding information,” Pete pointed out.

“That doesn’t matter! I keep having to wait because of some stupid situation or another, and I’m tired of it!”

“You’re not the only one.” Pete’s voice had an edge to it. “At least you know where your best friend _is._ ”

Poison scowled. “Don’t try and make me feel guilty, this isn’t a contest.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying, you’re not the only one who’s pissed off. If everyone else can keep their mouth shut for another week, so can you,” Pete said calmly. “Nothing’s going to happen to Ghoul. He’s _fine._ You aren’t letting him down by waiting.”

“He’s not fine, he’s surrounded by dracs!”

“And they have no reason to hurt him,” Pete reminded Poison. “For now, he’s just another patient. It sucks, I know it does, but we’re going to help. He isn’t going to turn into a total zombie in one week. We wouldn’t be waiting if we couldn’t afford to.”

“This is stupid,” Poison muttered. He knew there would be no changing Pete’s mind. The majority was against him, he thought bitterly. Everyone else had their _logic_ and _reason_ telling them to wait, wait, be careful. Poison didn’t have any of that. There only an itch beneath his skin, a force pulling him away from this goddamn place and towards Ghoul. He wanted to be back where he belonged; in the zones with the fabulous killjoys by his side, running through the warm night air. It was finally within his reach, but things kept holding him back.

He could feel his previous good mood evaporating. The simple frustrations of confinement to the city were fixed easily enough; color, music, or anything that felt like home could temporarily relieve the homesickness. But the pain of knowing Ghoul was still trapped under BLi’s influence was not so easily alleviated. 

It, too, was a form of homesickness, but a much more powerful one. 

***

Sneaking out of the base was more difficult than Poison had anticipated. There were always people around, and even if he did find himself without supervision, he would have no clue where to go. Americana hadn’t been kidding; it would be incredibly easy to get lost in the winding tunnels. Without her knowledge of every hidden exit, hell, without her _flashlight_ , Poison could end up wandering in the dark for hours. 

But that wasn’t going to stop him. 

He wasn’t sure what he was doing. It wasn’t anything major; he knew better than to disrupt Pete’s plans. They were annoying, but they worked, and drawing BLi’s attention could destroy the progress they had already made. Poison just wanted to see Ghoul again.

The killjoys had taken to clustering in Pete’s room during their free time. It could barely be called Pete’s-- it was more of a communal space. They regularly squabbled over who would share a bunk with whom, a struggle that usually culminated with Poison sleeping on the floor. He didn’t care enough to argue. Each night as he drifted off, he wished that he could slip away and return to the room originally designated for him and Tyler. That way he could get some privacy. But he couldn’t do that now. It would be out of character, noticeable. Pete would be sure to say something. He always said something.

It was three days before Poison got an instant of alone time.

Tyler and Gabe had just slipped into the room, and Bob and Pete had said they were going to the bathroom. Poison was left standing alone outside the door. The second he realized no one was watching, he leapt into action, moving as quietly as he could down the hall. He unlocked the exit with a key card Americana had given to him, and it hissed open, revealing another corridor.

Poison navigated as best he could, trying to remember the paths he’d taken before. It didn’t help that every hallway looked the same. The longer he spent meandering about, the more likely he was to be caught.

Each door he opened revealed another hall. It had only been half an hour, he hadn’t even made it to the exterior tunnels, and he was already lost. He rubbed his eyes, swallowing the frustration bubbling up inside him.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Pete’s voice asked.

Poison whirled around. Pete was leaning against the wall, giving Poison a stern look.

“It shows up on the security systems whenever you use your ID card. You disappeared, and I go to Americana in a panic to see that you’re slowly making your way out of the base. What the _fuck_ , Poison?”

Poison couldn’t help the glimmer of pride that shot through him. He _had_ been on the right track. Maybe if Pete hadn’t interrupted, he might have successfully found his way out.

“Well?” Pete demanded. “What the hell are you doing?”

Poison looked away, shrugging.

“You were trying to go topside, right? How did you think you were going to get past Brobeck? Christ, Poison, BLi is _looking for us._ If you went up there, you’d be walking straight into their hands. Going to the Crystal Ball alone is basically suicide.”

“I would’ve figured something out,” Poison muttered.

“No, you wouldn’t have. You always say that, but it never works. You can’t just walk into a trap and expect luck to get you out. Why does this always happen?” Pete sighed. “I don’t like arguing with you. I don’t want you to feel like I’m another of the things holding you back, I just… Dude, you’re a loose cannon. You’re going to get yourself killed if you aren’t careful.”

“That’s an occupational hazard of being a killjoy,” said Poison.

“You know what I mean. You have a tendency to put yourself in overly dangerous situations. If I could just…” Pete bit his lip. “I wasn’t supposed to show you this yet, but fuck it. Let’s go.”

He unlocked the door before them and led Poison through it. In a few minutes, they were standing inside the waiting room.

Poison blinked with surprise. “How did you find this place so easily?”

“I actually read the maps,” Pete said drly. 

Brobeck sat up at the sound of their voices. “Hey. No tour guide today, then? Where are you guys headed?”

Pete glanced at Poison. “Before you say anything, Americana okayed it. But we’re headed up to one of the junctions.”

Brobeck’s eyes narrowed. “Americana okayed that?”

“Yes.”

“No offense, man, but I’m gonna have to call and confirm that.” Brobeck’s fingers flew across the keyboard set into his counter, and after a beep, Americana’s voice sounded through a small speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hey. I’ve got Sandman and Poison out here heading for the upper levels. Sandman says they got permission, is that true?”

There was a brief pause. “Yeah. But if they take longer than half an hour, I’ll be coming up after them. You hear me, Sandman?”

“Loud and clear,” said Pete.

Brobeck ended the call with a _click._ He reached under the counter and pulled out an object which he tossed to Pete. “Here, you’ll need this.” Pete caught it, and Poison recognized it as a flashlight. “Be careful out there.”

“We will be,” Pete promised. The exit opened to them, and Poison barely processed the nervous look on Brobeck’s face before he shot outside. 

“What was that?” he demanded once the door had closed. “Since when did Americana give us permission to leave?”

Pete flicked the flashlight on. “Since today. I was talking to her earlier, while you and Gabe were helping with paperwork. She’s reluctant to let you go anywhere unsupervised, and rightly so, but I told her the only way you’ll cooperate is if she gives you a little freedom. You need to feel like you’re not being controlled. Am I right?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess. How come she trusts you so much?”

“Dunno. I sort of started the project in the Third Eye, I guess that’s probably why. You and me, we’re the leaders, I’m just the more rational one.” He flashed a cheeky grin. 

“I can be rational,” Poison said halfheartedly.

Pete just looked at him.

“Okay, fine,” Poison grumbled. “Let’s go.”

They started walking through the tunnel, their footsteps clacking quietly against the cement floor. The flashlight was a sole pinprick of light in the inky blackness. As they moved forward, the shadows would swallow up the space previously illuminated, as if it had never been light in the first place. 

“Do you know where you’re going?” Poison asked. 

“Yeah. Americana told me where to go…” Pete coughed. “And, uh, if we get lost, she can send someone after us.”

“How reassuring.”

“We’ll be fine. She never would have let us leave if was dangerous.” Pete kept walking, his pace never faltering. “We just have to make it to the junction. We’re meeting someone there, it shouldn’t be hard to find.”

“Why didn’t she just give you a _map_?”

“Why do you think?” Pete said scornfully. “If something went wrong, it’d just lead BLi straight back to the base.”

Poison didn’t bother voicing his concerns. The many ways in which this plan could go wrong were as obvious as the darkness around them. He just let Pete lead him further into the underground maze, twisting and turning in what he hoped was the right direction.

“Here!” Pete finally exclaimed. “I think I’ve got it.” He turned around, assessing their location, then nodded and pointed his flashlight to the wall. Sure enough, there was a large handle a few feet away. He went and wrenched it to the side, opening the hatch to reveal a ladder.

“Ladies first?” he offered.

Poison scoffed, but went up first anyhow. The ladder led up into another tunnel. When a hand appeared in front of his face, he nearly fell back down the ladder.

“Hi there!” a girl’s voice laughed. 

“Who’s there?” Pete and Poison said in unison.

“My name’s Comeback Queen. I’m a friend, don’t worry. Americana radioed me to say you were stopping by. You gonna come up, or what?” The hand waved in front of Poison’s face. He grabbed onto it, and was subsequently pulled onto the next level.

“Hi there,” Comeback Queen smiled. A small electric lantern was sitting on the floor next to her. “I hear you’re on a mission.”

“We are,” said Pete, hauling himself up from the ladder. “Americana said you had cam gear like Killer King’s.”

“That I do!” Comeback pointed to a case beside the lantern, kicking it open. “It’s all yours.”

“Great,” said Pete, breathing a sigh of relief. “Okay, Poison. Here’s the deal. I know you’re eager to check on Ghoul, but,” he reached out for the case, “I need to,” he took out a laptop and flipped it open, “Check something else first.” He looked up at Comeback Queen. “Did you get a peek into the Third Eye yet?”

“Yep,” she said casually. “Killer got all our computers in a while ago.”

Poison blinked. “Wait. Does that mean you were watching us in there?” He knew Killer had been following the events of the Third Eye, but the idea of being secretly observed by an entire faction of people made him uneasy. 

“Oh, no!” Comeback laughed. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t like that. He just showed us how to hack into the signal, just in case. I bet you’re pretty glad he did, too.” 

“Definitely,” Pete murmured. His fingers flew across the keys until he finally seemed to find what he wanted. He stared at the screen for a moment, then breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Thank god.”

“What is it?” Poison said curiously. He leaned over Pete’s shoulder to get a closer look.

Displayed on the screen was a security feed from the Third Eye. The camera was positioned in a patient’s bedroom, trained on the image of a red-haired girl…

“Hayley!” Poison said. “She’s alive!”

“They all are!” said Pete. He sounded slightly giddy. “Fuck, I thought they were all going to get killed.” He flipped through a series of feeds, eventually locating William, Travie, Lynn, and Ryan. “They’ve probably been dosed up, but we can still save them.”

He watched the feeds for a few more minutes, his features softening with content. 

Poison watched with him, but the feeling that fell over him wasn’t quite the same. Pete’s guilt over the rest of the patients had clearly been eating away at him, and now, it was finally being assuaged. But Poison’s relief wasn’t so monumental. It left room for doubts to creep in.

“Hey, Pete?” he said quietly. “Why _didn’t_ BLi kill them?”

Pete was silent for a while. Poison could almost hear him mentally trying to form a response.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I really don’t know. If the Director knew they were involved, they should be dead.”

“What if she didn’t know?” asked Poison. 

“That’s impossible. If she knew about us, she knew about them.”

Poison frowned. “That’s definitely weird.”

Silence fell between them once more, and Poison remembered their purpose with a start.

“It’s my turn,” he said, grabbing at the computer. “I assume we’ve got eyes on the Crystal Ball?” 

“Right you are,” Comeback Queen said cheerfully. “Watch away, boys.”

Poison clicked around the program, belatedly realizing he had no idea how it worked. “So…”

“I’ve gotcha,” said Comeback, winking. She knelt down next to them and turned the computer to face her. With a few quick taps, she turned it back, and the cameras were staring straight into the Crystal Ball.

It was remarkably similar to the Third Eye. There was a lobby, a lounge, a rec room; Poison skipped through them all, searching for any sign of Ghoul. Empty room, empty room, patients, empty room, patients, lounge--

He clicked past an image, then froze. “Fuck. _Fuck,_ how do I go back, shit--”

Comeback reached over and entered a command. The screen switched back to the previous feed, and Poison felt his breath catch. 

The camera focused in on what looked like a therapy room. A white-suited woman was sitting on one side of a table, clipboard in hand, but Poison barely saw her. All that mattered was the man sitting across from her. 

“Ghoul,” he breathed. 

“See?” said Pete. “He’s safe.”

Poison didn’t say anything. Ghoul was drumming his fingers against the tabletop, his lips forming words that Poison couldn’t hear. 

“Do we have audio?” Poison asked, fighting to keep his voice even. Comeback Queen shook her head.

“Sorry. We’re working on that.”

“It’s okay.” Poison watched as the woman in the lab coat scribbled something down. She made a gesture towards Ghoul, and he shrugged. He might have looked different, all dressed in white with his hair cut short, but the mannerisms were all the same. His eyebrows were drawn together in concentration; Poison knew the expression well. He was searching for the right thing to say. If only Poison could hear the words. If only he could just _reply…_

The woman said something else, and Ghoul smiled.

_I guess not everything’s the same._

Ghoul didn’t smile as much as Poison. He had a tendency to brood; sometimes, he would stare into space for hours on end, completely unaware of his surroundings. But when he did smile, fuck if it wasn’t the most beautiful thing Poison had ever seen. His eyes would crinkle up and his mouth would go all crooked, and he’d let that stupid pot giggle slip, and Poison wouldn’t be able to stop himself from laughing, too.

This was different. It didn’t reach Ghoul’s eyes, it didn’t radiate glee the way it should have. Instead, it just made Poison’s chest hurt.

“Soon,” Pete said gently. 

“Yeah,” said Poison, still staring at the screen. “Soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, writing a new chapter: this is the reunion chapter im so hype!! time for fluff!!!!
> 
> me, realizing that aint gonna happen yet: fuck
> 
> (repeat process)


	6. I'm Not Sure You Know My Name

Poison had never been a big fan of the sedentary lifestyle. Having a home was nice, of course; he could always use a safe place to kick his feet back and relax. But he couldn’t linger for too long. He was built to migrate, to bounce back and forth across the zones on a route that formed itself, wandering in a never-ending journey. Spending too much time in one place always made his skin itch, like it was getting tired of the same old air.

Battery City was the worst place of all to be stuck in. There was no room to move, no danger to send a shock of adrenaline through his stagnant veins. In the beginning, he could barely even leave his room. Poison knew he hadn’t quite earned the juviehalls’ trust, and therefore, he wasn’t allowed anywhere they deemed unsafe. It was bullshit, in his humble opinion. Danger was his second home. It was built into his bloodstream. He lived and breathed adrenaline, and if he couldn’t trust his instincts to tell him what to do, well, he couldn’t trust anything. But Crybaby didn’t see things the same way. It took a whole infuriating week for him to earn even a notion of freedom. When he was finally given the chance to go outside with a trade party, he jumped on it. 

In time, he became a regular member of said expeditions. He’d pop out from the tunnels with whoever else accompanied him, usually Pete and a random assortment of juviehalls, and they’d hunt down the nearest tumbleweed or truck filled with supplies. Poison preferred to intercept the trucks. Gunning down the draculoids in the front seat and busting into the back to retrieve the precious cargo they carried was the closest thing to outright rebellion he’d had in months.

Was it months?

“Hey, Pete?” he asked. They were sitting in the killjoys’ shared bedroom, Pete’s eyes glued to the screen of his laptop. For the past few days, he’d been learning how to hack BLi’s radio transmissions. Once he got good enough, he would be able to start working on the cameras, and maybe even the bugs. 

Killer King still hadn’t shown his face. Pete hadn’t said a word on the subject, but the fact that he was learning the same skills they had needed Killer for made his motives painfully obvious. 

“Pete?” Poison repeated. “Look up, man.”

Pete’s eyes flicked upwards, taking a moment to focus on Poison’s face. “Wha? Oh, sorry. What did you say?”

“Do you know how long we’ve been here?”

Pete lowered the lid of his laptop. “Like, two or three weeks. Why?”

“No, not _here_ here, like… Bat City. How long have I been here? My sense of time went all funky when I was on the pills, so I really don’t…” Poison’s voice trailed off. 

Pete looked surprised for a moment. “You don’t know how long you’ve been gone? I kind of assumed you would… Well, I don’t know how long you were in Linda Vista, but it was probably about a year, plus maybe three months in the Third Eye. When were you taken from the desert? If you know that, I can answer your question.”

“2019,” said Poison.

Pete snapped his laptop shut.

“No fucking way,” he said in a hushed tone. “Damn, they must’ve done all sorts of shit to you in Linda Vista. I mean, I was confused about time, too, at first, but…”

“What?” asked Poison, instantly on edge. “What are you talking about?”

“Poison…” Pete took a deep breath. “It’s 2023.”

Poison let out a startled yelp. “ _What_? I-- no, it can’t be!”

“It is,” said Pete. “At least it’s only been four years for you, though. I got taken in 2018. Think on that. When I met up with Killer, he told me three years had gone by. I flipped out. And then I had to wait another two years in the Third Eye, hoping for someone to come along who would listen to me…” He shuddered. “Trust me, you got lucky.”

“Lucky,” Poison said faintly. “Right.”

Pete looked him over, frowning. “You don’t look so good. Sorry for the shock, man, I should have realized your sense of time would be fucked up… You want to see what I’m working on?” Poison nodded. Any sort of distraction would help. Four _years,_ Jesus Christ. His memories of Linda Vista were blurry, but he didn’t think it had been _that_ long. 

Pete opened his computer and showed Poison the screen. “I’ve got a good handle on pretty much all of BLi’s signals, plus most of the rebel ones. Now I’m just trying to latch onto something from the desert. Dr. D’s always been hard to track down, but if DJ Hot Chimp’s still broadcasting, I might try to catch her.”

“That’d be cool. We could tell them we’re still alive.”

“I’m pretty sure they already know. This is just a personal project; Crybaby must have some other way of getting in touch with the zones.” Pete pulled the computer closer to him and opened up some sort of program, beginning to type away again. 

“Fuck, you’re right,” Poison said out loud. “Why didn’t we think of that earlier? We should get on the air, I want to find out what’s been going on in the zones.”

“I’m sure we can find time for it,” Pete murmured, his fingers clacking against the keys. “But we do have a lot on our plates. Americana’s going to be leaving soon. She’s needed back at her base, and now that we’re settled in, she thinks we’ll be okay without her. That’s true, of course, but we’ll still need to step up a bit… And then we’re going to start breaking into the Crystal Ball, obviously. Crybaby’s got that slated for a couple days from now.”

Poison startled. “A-- A couple days? Fuck, Pete, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told you just now, didn’t I?” Pete didn’t look up. “Killer’s obviously not going to help out, so we might as well get a move on. I’ve been doing some planning with Comeback Queen. The setup of the building is almost identical to that of the Third Eye. If we can get somebody into the loading dock, we can swap BLi’s shipment of pills with one of our own. We need a way past the security, though. I was thinking drac masks, but apparently they’ve got a new ID system, so a regular disguise won’t be enough.”

Poison winced. “Yeah. Plus, those masks are supposed to, like… suck your soul out, aren’t they?”

Pete shot him an amused look. “Nah, that’s just superstition. Believe me, if BLi had the ability to destroy peoples’ souls, we would’ve been the first ones to find out.”

Poison went quiet as the meaning of his words sunk in. “Yeah. I guess you’re right… What’s so tricky about their new system, then?”

“It’s just intense. They’ve got passwords, key cards, scanners, the whole shebang. They _really_ don’t want killjoys breaking in and stealing their precious patients.” Pete frowned. “We’ll get past it, though.”

“Of course.” Poison watched the screen as Pete went back to typing. There was still so much to be done. 

But at least they were finally getting started.

***

Poison waited for the signal, holding his breath as the truck pulled smoothly by. He counted to three in his head, glanced to the others for confirmation, then flung the trapdoor open and jumped up to the street, dashing off after the truck.

“I’ll take the drivers!” yelled the leader, a girl named Electra Heart. Her voice was muffled by a mask that covered almost all her features. “Poison, you’re with me!”

Poison pulled the ray gun from his thigh holster. It wasn’t his, he was just borrowing it, but it would do for now. He flicked the safety off and held it high. The truck drivers finally seemed to notice that they were being tailed. The vehicle sped forward, but not fast enough; Electra Heart had already grabbed onto the handle of the back door. She pulled herself up, balancing on the edge. 

“Hurry up!” she shouted. She looked at the handle she was clinging to and let go to fire straight at it. The lock snapped off. For a split second, she was suspended on the edge of the truck with nothing to hold on to, but she grabbed back onto the handle a moment later. The door swung open under her weight, holding her directly over the street. She looked down at the pavement rushing past, eyes widening briefly behind her mask, then swung her body towards the interior of the truck and leapt inside. The doors hung wide open.

Poison doubled his pace. In a few moments, he had caught up to the truck. He jumped up through the open doors, catching one leg on the edge and using it to push himself up. Between the back of the truck and the driver’s seat was a grate. Electra Heart had her gun jammed through it. There was a flash of light, then another, and the truck careened off to the side of the road. 

“Out!” she shouted. She bounded toward the door and jumped right out, Poison close behind her. The moment their feet hit the ground, a deafening _crash_ sounded from behind them. 

“Success,” she said. Poison could hear the grin in her voice.

“You didn’t need me at all,” he grumbled. “Why didn’t you just go alone?”

“Because then no one would have been there to see it, of course.” She darted over to the truck, which was smoking on the edge of the road. The hood had crumpled against the side of a building. The juviehalls swarmed over it, tearing open the boxes that sat in the trailer. 

“We’ve got food!” someone called.

“And paper!” shouted Bob. “Lots of office supplies.”

“Grab it all,” Electra ordered. “We can use it or trade it. Just be quick, there could be dracs on us any minute.”

Poison jumped inside and grabbed a box. It was light enough, so he stacked another on top of it before climbing back out. Electra moved through the group to count heads.

“We're all here! Let’s go,” she said. “We don't want BLi noticing the company we keep.” She inclined her head to Poison, then took off running. The others fell in behind her. The trapdoor was a ways down the street. Electra yanked it open and held it as the others slipped through. Poison had one foot inside when he heard the screech of tires. 

“Fuck,” said Electra. “Come on, get back up!”

“What? Are you crazy, those are dracs--”

“And they’ve seen our escape route, so we’ve got to kill them!”

Poison shoved his boxes through the trapdoor and scrambled back to his feet. Electra cocked her gun and fired straight into the windshield of the approaching truck. The glass shattered inwards, and the truck skidded off course. Poison shot at one of the tires. It burst into scraps. Electra fired at the driver and seemed to meet her mark; the truck was sent barreling into a wall.

“Let’s go before their backup comes,” said Poison.

“Wait,” Electra said shortly. She ran over to the truck, made two clean shots, and came back. “First lesson: always make sure they’re dead.”

With that, she headed back to the trapdoor and held it open for Poison. He jumped down into the darkness. She followed a moment later, pulling the trapdoor closed with a scrape of metal against pavement.

“Poison!” said Bob, grinning. “I'm glad you're okay.” Despite the danger that had become routine for them, he always seemed relieved to see his friends. He must have been the nervous type even before BLi got to him. He was much stronger now, though; his worries had begun to manifest in the form of compassion rather than constant fits of anxiety.

“‘Course I am, you sap,” Poison said affectionately. “I've never let a drac get the jump on me yet, have I?”

Bob shook his head. “You can never be too careful, though.”

“See? He’s a smart one,” said Electra, patting Bob’s shoulder. “Let’s get going.” She clicked her flashlight on, and one by one, the other juviehalls mirrored her, their lights flickering into being and piercing the darkness of the tunnel. She began to lead them back toward the base, humming softly to herself. The tune echoed from the stone walls.

It seemed to linger on the air even after they passed through the waiting room into the safety of the base.

***

Pete paced back and forth across the room, his face in his hands. “This is gonna be a rough one. We’ve done dangerous shit, like, _really_ dangerous shit, but that’s nothing compared to this. All that extra security… If the cameras get compromised, we’re done for.”

“It’s worth it,” said Poison. _Ghoul’s worth it._

“I know. But you do have to think about it, Poison. Have you ever been shot? Can you imagine how it’d feel to be killed? Or worse, if they took you back and wiped your mind again…” Pete shook his head. “We’re putting everything on the line.”

“Yeah.” Poison looked away. “Thanks for doing this, man. I don’t want to ask you to risk your life for me.”

“No, no, I get it.” Pete breathed deeply. “Sorry. I usually don’t let the nerves get to me like this, I don’t know what… I’m just stressed out.”

Poison tried not to feel too guilty. This mission was putting all the killjoys’ lives at risk, but the only person it would benefit would be Poison. 

“No,” Pete said sternly. “Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking. We’re gonna replace those pills, get Ghoul back in his right mind, and bring him back to you. I know what it’s like to lose family, Poison, I could never just sit by without helping.”

Poison gave a small smile. “Thanks. Do you wanna get moving instead of obsessing over the risks?”

“Hell yeah. Spur-of-the-moment action never hurt anybody, right?”

BLi’s new security systems had made it supremely difficult to gain entry, but Pete had managed to devise a plan. If they killed a drac, they could use its mask, key card, or even body, if any scanners required it. The difficult part would be eluding detection. Comeback Queen, Brobeck, and several other juviehalls would be manning the cameras. As long as their coding held true, Pete and Poison should be undetectable. But things could always go wrong. The cameras might fall through, BLi might notice the hacking, or, worst of all, someone might see Pete and Poison in person. If they were discovered, they were as good as ghosted.

Crybaby had insisted that they send someone else on the mission for them. New Americana, maybe, or some of the more experienced juviehalls. Poison had refused. It had to be him. This was something he had to make sure was done right; he couldn’t allow anyone to go in his place. It was too personal.

In the end, Crybaby had relented. Poison’s initial relief quickly turned to tension; it felt like no time passed between the moment Crybaby gave them the go-ahead and the moment he and Pete were surfacing in the Lobby. They both had masks to conceal their features, and nothing distinctive with them, not even Pete’s ray gun. They had taken every precaution, but the fear of detection lingered. They kept close to the sides of the streets, slinking along with the utmost care until the Crystal Ball finally came into view.

At first glance, it seemed no different than usual.

But soon enough, a patrol of draculoids passed by, guns held at their sides.

“At least it’s not scarecrows,” Pete said under his breath. He reached for the radio strapped to his thigh and clicked it on. “This is Sandman, we’ve got a drac patrol. How long ‘til the next one comes by?”

The radio hissed with static. “Should be about ten minutes,” Brobeck’s voice crackled. “You’re good to go. Also, say ‘over’ when you’re done. Over.”

“‘Kay. Which way to the loading dock?” asked Poison. 

Brobeck sighed with a short burst of white noise. “Go around the building to your left. Just follow the wall, it should show up somewhere near the back. _Over._ ”

“The question is,” Pete murmured. “How do we steal a drac’s key card without alerting the whole squad? Over.”

“I’d say kill the whole squad,” said Brobeck. “There are only, what, four of them? You’re a good shot, you could pick them off from a distance. It won’t show up on the cameras, either, not as long as I’m covering them. Over.”

“But when the next patrol comes by, they’ll see the bodies,” Poison pointed out. “That gives us ten minutes between patrols to get in and out. Over.”

“Well, no. If you time it right, you could shoot the dracs, get the bodies out of the way, and get into the dock just as the next patrol passes by. Then, once they’ve gone past, you could swap the pills and sneak back out. Over.”

“Do we really want to add any time onto this mission? Over.”

“If it’s necessary, yes,” Brobeck said, sounding as though he was rolling his eyes. “You’d rather wait around in the Crystal Ball than be dead, right?”

“Fair point. Let’s get moving, then, time’s a-wasting.” Poison grinned. “Oh, and Brobeck?”

“What is it?”

“You forgot to say ‘over.’” Poison flicked the radio off. He could almost hear Brobeck’s exasperated sigh. 

“You’re an idiot,” Pete laughed. “Come on.” He darted closer to the building, ray gun held at the ready. Poison kept a short distance behind him. They crept along the wall until, just as Brobeck had said it would, the loading dock came into view. The entrance was covered by a large metal door. Poison attempted to push it up before he realized it was locked. Two scanners sat beside the door, and a padlock hung from the latch. 

“And now we wait,” Pete said quietly.

Some five minutes later, a group of dracs rounded the corner. They barely had time to raise their guns before they were shot down, a burst of energy from Poison’s gun neatly dispatching each one. Pete hurried over to them and started pulling one toward the loading dock. “Help me!” he hissed. Poison grabbed another by the arms and heaved it up, half-carrying, half-dragging it to the door.

He dropped it to the ground in front of the scanner.

“Looks like a card reader,” said Pete. He reached into the draculoid’s pocket, rooting around until he came up with a white plastic card. He stuck it into the scanner. It flashed and beeped, which Poison took as a good sign. 

“Now for the hard part,” Pete muttered. He ripped the drac’s mask off. Poison tried not to look at the person underneath it. He’d made peace with the fact that there were humans beneath draculoids’ masks a long time ago, and no longer had too many qualms about killing them, but it was still rather unpleasant to stare into the face of a dead man. 

Pete lifted the drac up to the second scanner and pressed a button. A jet of light shot out, sweeping over the drac’s eye. The scanner beeped again. Pete let the drac fall, then, hesitating, slipped his mask off. He replaced it with that of the draculoid, along with its white jacket. 

“Anything we can do to avoid detection,” he said, his voice muffled. 

Poison scowled. "Yeah, you have fun with that. I'll stick with mine," he said, pointing to his own mask.

“Fine. I’ll grab the other dracs,” said Pete. “You get inside.” He went over to the remaining two draculoids, leaving Poison to deal with the padlock on the door.

Poison shot it right off. It blasted off the door with a _clang_ that made him cringe. He slid the door slowly up, moving inch by inch in an attempt to avoid making noise. Finally, he let it go, and it slid up to the roof with a _crash._

“Well, shit,” he said to himself. "That was loud." He darted inside and set straight to work checking the labels of every box and crate. Pete appeared a moment later, hauling a draculoid inside. 

“You’re looking for a package that says ‘suppressants, 500 mg,’” he whispered. “Should be a small one.”

Poison hurriedly checked each box. He and Pete rifled through them for far too long before Pete made a noise of triumph, holding up a small box. “Got it!” He shoved it into one side of his jacket, then pulled out a near-identical package from the other side. Poison knew that despite their similarities, this package housed very different contents. Pete set it on the ground.

“Let me grab the last one,” he said, inclining his head to the drac slumped in the corner. Poison nodded. Together, they ran out and tugged the last body inside. They pulled the door closed behind them. This time, Poison made sure it didn’t make a sound.

“And now we wait,” Pete said quietly. 

They had gotten inside just in time. A few moments later, Poison heard footsteps, and what could only be a patrol of dracs passed by. He held his breath until the footsteps became inaudible.

“Okay, let’s get out of here,” he muttered. He pushed the door open. “We good to go?”

“Yeah.” Pete peeked out the door, looking both ways before nodding. “Now!” He and Poison took off running, guns in hand. Poison couldn’t stop himself from grinning underneath the mask. 

_It doesn’t matter if we’re seen now. We got what we came for._

***

Ghoul was sitting in what had to have been a group therapy meeting, but clearly wasn’t paying attention. He was just staring at the ground, eyebrows drawn together, barely seeming to notice the activity around him. Poison knew that expression. He was confused about something. Ghoul hated being confused-- it made him feel powerless, and that was one thing he couldn’t stand. Now, his discomfort was all too obvious. He kept shifting in his seat, refusing eye contact with anyone.

The new pills were working.

“Don’t be too stupid about it,” Poison murmured at the screen. “They’ll notice.”

Of course, Ghoul couldn’t hear him, and he wouldn’t understand even if he could. He didn’t know what a dangerous situation he was putting himself in by showing emotion.

A white-suited man said something, and Ghoul looked up, his reaction delayed. He said something inaudible, and the man moved on. Poison breathed a sigh of relief. Ghoul wasn’t the only one being weaned off his medication, of course-- Pete and Poison had made sure to leave enough of the new pills for every patient. But Ghoul was definitely showing the clearest signs of regression.

“How long until we can break him out?” Poison asked, turning to Comeback Queen.

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, I’m just a guard. Go ask Brobeck. Or Crybaby, she’d obviously have the most information.”

“Crybaby’s weird,” Poison muttered.

Comeback Queen laughed. “Isn’t she just? You’ll get used to her, but it takes time and exposure. Go talk to her. She’s not as crazy as she seems.”

Poison cast a reluctant look at the screen. “But--”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Comeback said gently. “Go talk to Crybaby. You need a break.”

Poison sighed, but pushed himself to his feet. He waved goodbye to Comeback Queen before climbing down the ladder into the deeper tunnels. With time, he had started to learn the routes a little better. He was still nowhere near the juviehalls’ level of memorization, but he wouldn’t get lost. He found his way back to the waiting room, gave Brobeck the password, and made his way back through the halls of the base with no trouble. In a few minutes, he was standing in front of Crybaby’s door. The birthday cake sticker stared at him from the polished metal.

Poison rapped his knuckles against the door.

“Who is it?” called a voice from inside.

“Party Poison.”

The door slid open abruptly, and Crybaby’s beaming face appeared in the opening. “Oh, Mr. Party Poison, it’s been too long! I was wondering when you’d choose to stop by. Come in, come in!” She pushed the door fully open and skipped back to her desk, jumping into the chair behind it. “What’s up?”

Poison cut to the chase. “When are we going to break into the Crystal Ball?” 

Crybaby smiled. “So, you’ve decided to talk to me rather than let Sandman act as the middleman, then?”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“And that doesn’t answer _mine_ ,” she said, pouting. “Are you afraid of me, Party Poison? No, I don’t think so, you’re far too courageous for that. But there must be _some_ reason you’ve avoided me all this time.” She tapped a finger to her lips, looking thoughtful. “Hmm… Do I make you uncomfortable? That must be it. You can’t stand that silly girl with her demands and her dresses and her dreams, can you? She’s so strange. Don’t you just _hate_ it? Or maybe it’s not that you hate… Maybe it’s the fact that she can read you like a book.” She smiled, displaying a full set of teeth with a gap between the front two. Poison just stared at her.

If Ghoul had been there, he would’ve told her to her face exactly how fucking creepy she was.

Poison opted for something a little more tactful. “No, I just didn’t think it was necessary to talk to you. You seem to like Sandman better, anyway.”

It wasn’t true, of course. Crybaby was unnerving at best, there was no denying that; Poison had put off talking to her as long as he possibly could. But he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of admitting it.

Crybaby sighed, exaggerating the gesture into a full-body slump. “If you don’t answer me honestly, why should I do the same?”

She let her eyes flutter closed, as if waiting for a reaction. When Poison was silent, she lifted one eyelid and peeked up at him. “Oh, you’re no fun. We’ll start moving in on the Crystal Ball as soon as things get too dangerous for your little friend. Happy?”

“What does ‘too dangerous’ mean?” Poison asked, suspicious.

Crybaby waved a hand. “When he starts acting noticeably different. When it’s obvious that he’s not on the pills. We won’t let him get hurt, don’t worry. We just can’t act too quickly, or the pills won’t have fully worn off. I’d give it… three days, tops.”

Poison nodded. It wasn’t as soon as he’d like, but he could manage. At least she hadn’t ordered him to wait another two weeks.

“Was that all you wanted?” she asked.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Poison turned and started to walk away, but Crybaby made a displeased noise. He turned back to see her pouting once more.

“Stay and play a game with me?” she asked, her eyes wide and beseeching. “It gets _awfully_ boring in here by myself. Plus,” she giggled, and the innocent look vanished, “I want to see you lighten up a bit.” 

Poison wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react. On one hand, it seemed like keeping her happy was the best idea, but on the other, he really didn’t want to stay in the pastel pink office any longer than he had to.

“I’m gonna take a pass on that one,” he said awkwardly. He stepped outside, and the door shut behind him, the hiss of its mechanics almost covering Crybaby’s dramatic sigh.

***

Gabe barreled straight into Poison, nearly knocking him over in the process. “Poison!” he screeched. “I’ve been looking all over, where the fuck were you?”

“Up in the tunnels, where else would I be?” Poison asked. He looked Gabe up and down, frowning slightly. He couldn’t quite place it, but something looked different about him. Maybe it was something in the posture. It was looser, somehow, but at the same time, more confident. Like he had been held up by an invisible set of strings, and now he had cut them all. He was moving freely. “You look different, Gabe. What happened?”

“Honey, it ain’t Gabe no more,” Gabe sang. 

Poison’s eyes widened. “Wait, you mean--”

“It’s Disaster Boy,” Gabe said smugly. “I’m alive and kickin’, and never felt better.”

“Holy shit!” said Poison, grinning widely. “What? I can’t believe I missed it, fuck-- how’d you remember?”

“I don’t know! Something just clicked in my head, and,” Gabe snapped his fingers, “Bam. I’m me again! Poor Bob, he’s the only one without his memories now.” He smiled wistfully. “Good ol’ Noise Control. He was never exactly a partier, but I think he’ll be a little more exciting once he’s got his head back, huh?”

“Definitely. Does he know about you yet?”

“Nope! I tried to find him, but he wasn’t in the room, and Sandman doesn’t know where he is, either. I was gonna find Blurryface next, I heard he was in the medical wing.”

“Yeah, he is,” said Poison. “He’s getting lessons or something.”

“Sweet. Anyway, I was gonna tell him next, but then I ran into you!” Gabe paused. “Wait, shit. Do I call him Tyler?”

Poison shrugged. “I have no idea. I keep calling him Tyler by force of habit, but it doesn’t suit him as well as Blurryface. Not to me, at least. I get the feeling I’ll start using his killjoy name when we leave the city. Maybe even sooner.”

Gabe nodded thoughtfully. “I think I’ll use killjoy names from now on. It just feels better, y’know? A little bit of familiarity in this fuckin’ place. And, y’know, the obvious... If I tried calling you Gerard, you’d probably bite my head off.”

“Damn straight,” said Poison.

Gabe stared off into the distance, grinning. “Yeah. _Fuck_ yeah, man, this feels amazing. Let’s go find Blurryface and Bob!” He shook himself, excitement rolling off his skin in waves, and started off down the hall. Poison laughed and followed him.

Due to Gabe’s height, it was always difficult to keep up with him, but his good mood made everything seem light. He pulled Poison along in his wake, excitement spurring them forward, step by step.

***

Poison smiled down at the pill in his hand, then dropped it to the ground and crushed it beneath his foot. 

_Suck on that, Better Living._

“Please, be more dramatic,” Pete said dryly. 

“Be careful what you wish for,” Poison sang. He placed his hands on his hips, cocking one out slightly in an exaggerated show of defiance. “I’ll be as dramatic as I please! Sobriety’s a precious thing, I think it deserves a little celebration.” He grinned, reaching out to mess with Pete’s hair. “Aw, c’mon, Pete. Don’t tell me it doesn’t feel awesome to be off the pills.”

The detoxing process was finally over. Now that every last trace of medication was gone from Poison’s system, he was riding a different sort of high, one built on the giddy feelings of freedom and hope. He was clean. He was finally back in control, and soon enough, he’d be back with Ghoul. In his opinion, that was enough reason to let loose a little. 

“It does feel awesome,” Pete admitted.

“And I seem to remember you having your own flair for the dramatic out in the zones,” Poison said, smirking. “All those lyrics, so romantic, so _moving_! You’re a drama queen just as much as I am, you’re just a little whinier.”

“You shut your--”

Poison cleared his throat and sang, “ _’My smile’s an open wound without you--’_ ”

“Shut up!” said Pete, flushing. “That was a damn good line, and you know it.”

“Exactly! You know you love the theatrics, Pete, you’ve just gotta own it.”

“Excuse me for not parading up and down the halls singing about how much BLi sucks,” Pete said, rolling his eyes. “Disaster Boy’s been a bad influence on you.”

“Me?” said Gabe, insulted. “A bad influence on _him_? I think you’re forgetting what shows from the fabulous killjoys were like.”

“Yeah, we all know Poison’s stage persona was a little… out there,” said Tyler.

“Let’s keep it ‘out there’ and not ‘in here,’” said Pete. “This base can’t take any more innuendo now that Disaster’s around.”

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Poison complained. “I haven’t even been that bad. I’m just really feeling it today! Like I said, we’re clean now, we should celebrate!” He nudged Pete’s shoulder. “You were so different in the zones, you’re no fun anymore.”

“Right?” Gabe chimed in. “You used to be all, _hey, I’m Sandman and I’m addicted to eyeliner and licking my bass,_ but now you’re all, _hurr durr, we gotta make plans and be cautious and stuff._ Whatever happened to the Sandman who jumped off a stage and broke his leg?”

Pete shrugged. “Bat City happened, I guess. I’d still be doing all that stuff, but we’ve got a lot of shit to think about.”

“You’re so depressing,” Poison sighed. “Can’t you take your mind off it for a few minutes?” He sat back on one of the bunks, sobering up a little. “Look, man. I get it. We’ve all got shit to deal with. Jet Star and Kobra Kid have been dead for years, Fun Ghoul is under BLi’s control, and I still have no fuckin’ clue where the Girl is. I’ve got a lot to stress over, and most of the time, I do. I can’t help it. But for once in my life, things are sort of looking up, so I’m gonna make the most of it. You should do the same.”

“It’s different for you,” Pete said uncomfortably. “Things _are_ looking up for you; you’ll be back with Ghoul soon. But I’m just as far away from my crew as I’ve always been.”

“All progress is good progress. You’ll find them, dude.” Poison looked at him sternly. “You’ve given me enough pep talks, you have to listen when I return the favor. Understand? That means no depressing bullshit, not today. Tomorrow, we can all be as miserable as we like, but until then, we’re gonna fucking celebrate the fact that we’re drug-free. Deal?”

Pete chewed on his lip.

“Yeah, okay. Deal.”

“Shiny!” said Gabe. “I bet there’s booze around here somewhere. What say we start there?”

Poison nodded approvingly. “I like the way you think, kid.”

Pete gave them a look. “You guys, Tyler isn’t old enough to--”

“Oh, shut up, Sandman, we told you to get the stick out of your ass,” Gabe whined. “Blurryface has probably gotten drunk before, right? I mean, he lived in the zones, he’s not _sheltered._ ”

“I actually haven’t,” Tyler mumbled.

Gabe stared. “That might be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Tyler and Gabe argued back and forth, with Pete occasionally interjecting. He did seem to loosen up after a while, to Poison’s relief. He needed a break. They all did.

Soon enough, reality would set back in, and they would have far more things to fear than to celebrate. But Poison was going to enjoy every moment that passed until the real world sank its claws in once more.

***

Today was the day.

Poison had been jittery since the moment he’d rolled out of bed. His mind was a flurry of one repeating thought: _today, today, today._ The equipment had been set up. The juviehalls had been gathered. The match had been struck; all they had to do was hold it to the fuse.

Today was the day they entered the Crystal Ball Center. 

Poison kept one hand on his gun as they moved through the tunnels. There was no danger nearby, but he couldn’t shake the paranoia that kept his finger glued to the trigger. He couldn’t let things go wrong now, not when they’d come so far. He was prepared for every possible outcome. If the plan veered even slightly off course, he would correct it. 

The idea was deceptively simple. They had a team manipulating every camera and recording device within range of the Crystal Ball, and almost all the juviehalls in the area had been informed of what was going on. They didn’t get the details, of course, but they knew to keep their eyes open. Americana had joined up with Crybaby once more, bringing a few of her friends along to make up an elite force. Poison didn’t know them, but he thought they looked like good fighters. That was all they needed to be.

“You good?” Pete asked him. Poison nodded. “Good. I know you don’t want me to say anything, but I feel like--”

Poison groaned. “This really isn’t the time for a lecture.”

“I’m just saying,” said Pete. “You need to remember Ghoul’s situation. You can’t expect him to remember you. It’s going to take time and effort, and it’s gonna fuckin’ hurt, but he has no idea who you are, Poison, and that’s the truth. You need to be ready for it.”

“I am ready for it,” Poison said, his fingers tightening around the handle of his ray gun. “I can’t stop thinking about it. Trust me, you aren’t telling me anything new.” 

Pete was unmoved by his warning tone. “Are you sure? I mean, I wouldn’t be ready, if I were you. You have to keep details in mind. You can’t let anything slip, or it could fuck him up-- you can’t even call him Ghoul, Poison. You’re gonna have to use his real name.”

“I know!” Poison snapped. “Christ, I know that. Can you shut the fuck up now?”

Pete went quiet, much to Poison’s relief. 

“And don’t call it his ‘real name,’” Poison muttered. “He hates that.”

“What _will_ you call him, then?” Crybaby’s voice purred in his ear, making him jump. She giggled. “Boo!”

“Where the hell did you come from?” Poison asked, pressing a hand to his thumping heart. 

“What, you thought I’d let you go off on such an exciting mission without me? Never! I’ve been here all along, Party Poison. You really must work on your observation skills.” Poison couldn’t see her in the darkness, but he could hear the smirk in her voice. “But you’re being dodgy as ever. What _are_ you going to call your loverboy, if his real name won’t do the trick?”

“Why should I tell you that?” Poison growled. He hated that so many people knew _his_ old name; giving out Ghoul’s felt like a betrayal. Names held power, everyone knew that. They were deeply, deeply personal. To entrust another killjoy with your city name was to give them a piece of yourself, a piece so secret and sacred that you hid it even from yourself. Sharing that secret made you vulnerable beyond belief. It was the ultimate mark of trust.

“Well, you _could_ keep it secret, but then what would I say?” Crybaby said airly. “‘Hello, Mr. Fun Ghoul, I’m Crybaby-- what, don’t you remember your name? You don’t remember your life? Oopsy daisies, shouldn’t have reminded you.’ No, that wouldn’t do. He wouldn’t know how to respond! Snapping his mind would be a bit counterproductive, don’t you think?”

Poison didn’t answer.

“So, what’s his name?” Crybaby chirped. “You’ll have to spit it out eventually.” She poked Poison in the cheek, giggling as he jumped away. 

_Frank Iero._

The first time Poison had heard that name, he was laying on a worn-out mattress on the floor of the diner. He could hear Kobra breathing somewhere nearby, a gentle rhythm that soothed the pit of anxiety gnawing at his stomach…

_Poison turned to face the wall. Across the room, he heard someone else move. He knew who it was without having to look. Who else would be up at this ungodly hour?_

_The mattress creaked, and Poison felt Ghoul’s familiar weight settle in beside him._

_”I’m sorry.”_

_Poison’s breath caught in his throat. “What?”_

_”Don’t make me say it again, douchebag.”_

_Poison stared at the wall in shock. Had it come on any other night, he wouldn’t have believed it. Fun Ghoul_ never _apologized. Not for anything. When they fought, they usually made up silently, their forgiveness unspoken but no less real. This, though… This was different. Poison thought he understood._

_He rolled over to face Ghoul, reaching blindly out for his hand. Their fingers laced together in the darkness. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m sorry too.”_

_It had started with an argument like any other. They both had powder-keg tempers that ignited at the slightest spark, usually resulting in stupid fights that fizzled out almost as quickly as either of them could throw a punch. That morning wasn’t the first time Ghoul had stormed out. He left sometimes, taking Kobra’s bike and running away to who-knew-where before coming back and wrapping his arms around Poison from behind, his unspoken apology absolving any petty conflict between them._

_But that evening was the first time he’d come back injured._

_He’d stumbled into the diner, white as sheet, with blood soaking the front of his shirt. Poison had taken one look at him and shouted for Jet Star, who raced in with the medical kit and set straight to work assessing the damage._

_”Get off,” Ghoul had mumbled, weakly pushing Jet’s hands away as he cut Ghoul’s shirt open. “Aw, c’mon, man, I liked this outfit.”_

_”What happened?” Jet demanded. He snapped his fingers, and Kobra was at his side in an instant with a bottle of alcohol. Ghoul hissed with pain as Jet poured it over his wound._

_”Son of a fuck, couldn’t I just drink it instead?”_

_”Only if you want to go blind. Seriously, man, what the hell happened to you?”_

_”Dracs. They just showed up out of nowhere, tons of ‘em. I shot a couple, but they shot back.”_

_Jet Star set to work threading a needle, and Poison had to look away. Watching people receive stitches was one of his least favorite things to do; it was second only to receiving stitches, or possibly death._

_”You’ve lost a lot of blood,” said Jet. “Just try not to move and don’t waste your energy talking, okay? Kobra, you watch the Girl, she doesn’t need to see this. Poison, go get Ghoul some water.”_

_Poison glanced back over to Ghoul and froze. He’d clearly been shot in the chest; the wound didn’t look bad enough to kill him instantly, but if the blood kept running the way it was, he would be in serious danger. He could die. He could fucking die. Poison could feel his own heart beating hard, a rhythmic pounding in his ears that brought time to a standstill. God, there was so much blood. It was fucking everywhere, staining Ghoul’s hands and dripping onto the floor from his discarded jacket…_

_”Why the fuck did you leave?” Poison hissed. The words slipped out automatically, and he couldn’t stop the surge of hurt and anger that came with them. “You fucking dick, why didn’t you just come back before you got yourself hurt?”_

_”Poison,” Jet warned. But it was too late; Ghoul’s expression had already shifted from pained to pissed._

_”Are you really gonna fucking go there? Seriously? I didn’t exactly go up to the dracs and shake my ass until they started shooting at me! That’s more of your department, don’t you think?”_

_”I only look for fights when I’ve got people at my back, asshole! This never would have happened if you hadn’t acted like a fucking child--”_

_”Oh, so I’m the childish one?”_

_”You’re both acting like children!” Jet shouted. “Ghoul, shut your mouth and let me stitch you up before you lose any more blood. Poison, get your head out of your ass and get us a water bottle. Please. And then stay out of the room, you’re not helping.”_

_Poison heaved a sigh of annoyance, turning away from the fury burning in Ghoul’s eyes._

_After that, he had stayed with Kobra and the Girl, the two of them keeping her occupied so she wouldn’t have to think about Ghoul. They were only moderately successful. Kobra managed to distract her, but Poison couldn’t keep his thoughts away from what was going on in the next room. So much blood._

_Half an hour later, Ghoul had limped into the room, given Poison a scathing look, and limped back out. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other for the rest of the day. At least, not until now._

_”You scared me,” Poison said quietly. “You scared the shit out of me, Ghoul, I mean, Jesus. You looked half-dead.”_

_Ghoul shifted closer to Poison. “You thought I was gonna end up another ghost on the airwaves, huh?”_

_”Maybe,” Poison said honestly. “I mean, shit like that happens all the time. You think you’re gonna be fine, but then…”_

_Ghoul was silent for a few minutes. Finally, he moved closer, until Poison could feel his breath tickling his own face. He reached out and touched a hand to Ghoul’s chest. Beneath his shirt, there was a thick layer of bandages._

_”Do you ever think about it?” Ghoul asked._

_Poison withdrew his hand. ”Think about what?”_

_”What would happen if I got ghosted.”_

_Poison winced. “Not while I’m awake.”_

_Ghoul nodded. Every killjoy had nightmares; it was something they could all relate to, except maybe the Girl. Poison liked to think that they had kept her safe from the most horrifying things out there. She hadn’t experienced anything that would fuel bad dreams. As long as her waking hours were spent in safety, her sleeping ones would be protected as well._

_Ghoul squeezed Poison’s hand softly and shifted even closer, so he could fit his head just beneath Poison’s chin._

_He said something Poison couldn’t quite make out._

_”What?”_

_Ghoul lifted his head. “It was Frank Iero,” he said quietly._

_Poison’s breath caught in his throat._

_He didn’t need to ask what Ghoul was referring to. Ghoul settled in against him once more, seemingly oblivious to his shock. “I thought it was time you knew,” he said, his voice muffled. “I… It wouldn’t feel right if I died and you never found out, y'know?”_

_”I… Yeah. Wow,” said Poison, slightly dazed. A revelation like this didn’t come often. It was almost overwhelming, the sheer knowledge of how much Ghoul trusted him, despite their frequent fights, despite the fragility of killjoy life…_

_”Mine was Gerard,” he found himself saying. “Gerard Way.” Ghoul went still, and for a moment, they were both frozen, teetering on the edge of something terribly important, something so emotionally charged it could explode at any moment._

_They had saved one another’s lives too many times to count. They were ride or die, they always had been, but this went beyond any mere bond of blood or spirit._

_They had just entrusted each other with their very souls._

_”That’s a dorky name,” Ghoul mumbled. “I like Poison better.”_

_Poison let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a giggle escaping with it. ”Good. I do, too.”_

_He wrapped an arm around Ghoul, savoring the warmth of his skin, the feeling of his chest rising and falling. He was alive. He was safe; they both were. They had each other, and no matter what came between them, they would always find themselves right back here…_

Crybaby waved a hand in front of Poison’s face. “Hello? Anyone in there?”

Poison slapped her hand away. “Fuck off.” He trudged ahead of the group, his shoulders set into the most antisocial posture he could manage. No one spoke to him for the rest of the trip, and he couldn’t have been more grateful. He couldn’t stop fucking thinking about the desert. The knowledge that Ghoul wouldn’t remember any of it was nettling at his brain, taunting him. 

The anger began to dissipate once they surfaced, transforming instead into anxiety. Poison took in the sunlight and the fresh air, and with every step, it felt more real. This was happening. Fuck, he was about to see Ghoul again. Maybe Pete was right. Maybe he wasn’t ready.

_I have to be ready._

As they approached the Crystal Ball, Crybaby took the lead once more. Her playful grin had disappeared, replaced by a look of quiet determination. It was odd to see her so serious. She motioned for them to keep moving, and before Poison could even blink, they were racing toward the Crystal Ball. He could see a security camera just off to the left. It didn’t follow them as they passed by, which was as good a sign as any. 

“Back door,” Americana hissed. “This way!” She led them around the edge of the building. When they left, they would surely be noticed, but that would come later. Now, they just needed to get in without being seen.

The first patrol of dracs came mere minutes later. Americana shot them down without hesitation, grabbing one and angling its face toward the retinal scanner that guarded the back door. Then she nicked an ID card from each draculoid. 

“Perks of being a drac,” she explained, grinning. “Your key card works in any lock.” She kept the cards in her hand as she kicked the door open, and the others flooded inside behind her. 

“Ghoul’s on floor two,” said Electra Heart, tapping at a handheld device. “Should be… room 127. The rest of the patients are stationed nearby. We’ve got a few rooms on each level, ranging from floors one to four.”

They had already prepared for the possibility of splitting up. Americana took one team, while Crybaby, Electra, and Poison took the other three. Americana gave them each a card, and Electra told them the room numbers they needed. Poison stayed just long enough to hear his before heading straight for the second floor.

“Good luck,” Americana whispered to him as she passed by. He ignored her and threw open the door to the stairs. The elevators were too much of a risk; if a drac decided to get on with them, well, it wouldn’t be pretty. But on the stairs, there was room to fight.

Thankfully, no fights awaited them. They reached the second floor with no opposition, slipping out into the hall.

“Right,” said Poison, forcing a calm tone. “We’ll have to get the patients all at once if we want to get out on time. Sandman, Blurryface, you take room 132. Disaster and Bob, you’ve got 124.” Even if BLi couldn’t hear, using their proper killjoy names felt like the best way to spit in the company’s face. Except Bob, of course. He was ruining the vibe. 

Poison brought himself back to th task at hand, letting out a slow breath.. “I’ll take 127,” he said.

“We’ll be fast,” Pete promised. “I’m not letting you go in there alone.” True to his word, he grabbed Tyler and they darted down the hall before Poison could even blink. Poison headed in the same direction and stopped in front of the designated door. 

Down the hall, Bob inserted his key card, and the scanner beeped. He ran over and passed it to Poison as Disaster opened the door to their room. Poison used it and passed it on to Pete before staring at the door in front of him, now unlocked, just waiting to be opened.

It was now or never. 

The door swung open before he even touched it.

“You’re not the Director,” Ghoul said, quirking an eyebrow. “How’d you unlock the door?”

Poison opened his mouth, but couldn’t speak. Fuck. Fucking _hell_ , he wanted to jump on Ghoul and hug the shit out of him, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even move. Ghoul was right there, and he looked so fundamentally wrong in the white uniform, but at the same time, Poison didn’t think he’d ever been more beautiful.

Ghoul frowned. “What’s up with your hair?” he asked, an edge of suspicion growing in his voice. “It’s so… red. And that outfit…”

They locked eyes, and Poison barely managed to jam his foot into the door before Ghoul slammed it shut.

“Who are you?” Ghoul said tensely, holding the door as tightly closed as he could. “Why are you here?”

“To get you out,” Poison said through gritted teeth. He shouldered his way into the gap, grabbing Ghoul by the arm and yanking him into the hall. “You’re coming with me, got it?”

Ghoul took one look at him, eyes wide, and bolted down the hall. Poison cursed and sprinted after him, catching him just before the staircase.

“I said, you’re coming with me, fucker!” Without thinking, he raised his ray gun and held it to Ghoul’s forehead. The safety was still on, thank God, but Ghoul didn’t know that. A look of sheer terror crossed his face, and Poison’s heart clenched. Fuck. This didn’t feel right. He was supposed to protect Ghoul, not scare him. This was all wrong. 

“Okay,” Ghoul said weakly, raising his hands. “Whatever you want, dude. Just… careful with that thing.” He swallowed hard, slightly cross-eyed as he stared at the barrel of the gun. 

Poison searched his face for any sign of emotion, for the smallest trace of recognition, but there was nothing. He knew he shouldn’t have felt disappointed. Ghoul’s mind had been totally wiped, Poison couldn’t expect him to remember instantaneously.

But it still fucking stung. 

“So, who are you, really?” said Ghoul, licking his lips nervously. “What do you want with me?”

“That doesn’t matter. You just need to keep your mouth shut and stick with me, okay?” The words came out much gentler than they should have. Ghoul looked confused, and Poison mentally kicked himself.

“Poison!” a voice called from down the hall. Poison glanced toward its source, and saw Pete holding his zap to a boy’s chest.

“These patients, they’re so willing,” he said, forcing a smile. “Looks like you’re having just as much luck as me, huh?”

“Totally,” Poison muttered. 

Bob emerged from one of the rooms with a girl in tow. He looked back and forth between Pete and Poison, frowning. “Oh. Are we doing the gunpoint thing now?” He held his gun to the girl’s face, and she let out a squeak of terror.

“Let’s just get out of here,” said Pete. “Come on.” He led his patient down the hall to the staircase. Poison let the others go first before following with Ghoul in tow.

“Where are we going?” Ghoul asked quietly. 

“Away from here,” Poison responded. _Home_ , he wanted to say. _We’re taking you and getting you out of this fucking place, back to the desert where you belong._ But they weren’t going to the desert, not yet, and besides, Ghoul wouldn’t think of it as home, not in this state of mind. Not in this state where he didn’t even fucking recognize Poison. 

“But where? You’re gonna get caught, you know that? You can’t get away with this,” Ghoul said. It was funny; he sounded as if he actually believed it. He really believed BLi were the good guys. “You can’t just kidnap us--”

“Frank, just shut your fucking mouth, okay?” Poison said tiredly. They came to the bottom of the staircase, and he prodded Ghoul with the tip of his gun to get him through the exit first. Ghoul stopped in the doorway, giving him an odd look.

“How d’you know my name?”

Poison kept his face blank, but fuck, those words made him ache.

_That’s not your name. Not anymore._

But at the same time, it _was._ Calling him Frank should have been easy; the name represented times gone by, a past willingly forgotten. There should have been a distinct separation between _Frank_ and _Fun Ghoul._ But names had always been tricky with Ghoul. Sometimes, he would snap and lash out at any mention of his life in the city, but other times, the times when he was most fucked up, he’d call Poison _Gerard_ , and just sigh if Poison used his killjoy name in return. While Poison had erased every element of Battery City from his identity, and Ghoul had outwardly done the same, there was still a secret, guilty part of him that had held onto it. 

It was the barest, most intimate part of Ghoul. As far as he knew, Poison was the only one Ghoul had ever allowed to call him by his former name. It was a name for whispers and darkened rooms and slow breathing.

But now, here it was, in broad daylight.

It felt indescribably wrong.

Poison just pushed Ghoul along, not answering his question. His team was reunited with those of the other juviehalls, and in no time at all, they were creeping back out of the Crystal Ball.

“That was way too fucking easy,” Americana said darkly as they hopped down into the tunnels. “Something’s up.”

“Barely any blood at all,” said Crybaby, sounding almost disappointed.

“They saw the Third Eye escape coming so easily, how the fuck did they miss this?” Pete said under his breath. “It doesn’t add up. We’re not _that_ stealthy.”

“I dunno,” said Bob. By the light of the flashlights, Poison could see his face twisted into an uncomfortable frown. “Maybe… Maybe we did something that tipped them off back in the Third Eye, but that didn’t happen this time? Maybe we were just more careful.”

“Can somebody tell me what’s going on? Where are we going?” Ghoul snapped. “Pardon me if I’m wrong, but the whole kidnapping-me-and-leading-me-through-a-creepy-tunnel thing is a little freaking ominous.”

“Are you gonna kill us?” one of the other patients whimpered.

Pete sighed heavily. “No, we aren’t going to kill you.”

“We’re going to teach you how to live,” said Poison. He couldn’t stop himself from looking to Ghoul, and there it was again, that urge to reach out and touch him, to reaffirm that this was _real._ It felt simultaneously too good and too terrible to be real. Ghoul was looking at him with narrowed eyes. Once, Poison had been able to look at him and _feel_ the bond between them, a level of trust so strong it was tangible.

Now, there was nothing but fear and hatred. 

***

Pete ended up being the one to explain everything to the patients. He told them exactly what BLi was trying to do to them, and how much better it was to be a killjoy. He asked if they really believed all the lies BLi had told them, and it was a rhetorical question, but Poison had never wanted anything more than for Ghoul to say _no._

He didn’t get what he wanted.

“We’re a little tight on space,” Pete said under his breath to Poison as they left the room. “And the room for you and Tyler is pretty much unoccupied, so, if you wanted, uh…”

“What are you suggesting?” asked Poison. 

“You could bunk with him. I don’t think he’ll try anything… All the patients are too scared of us to make a break for it. I could do it if you wanted, but--”

“No, I’ll do it.” Poison glanced over his shoulder, picking Ghoul out of the crowd of patients and juviehalls. He sighed. “This fucking sucks.”

“I know,” Pete said gently. “If it’s too much, I’ll take over, okay?”

“It’s fine. I just… I want to be close to him.” 

“Yeah. You go ahead, I’ll show him the way.” Pete squeezed Poison’s shoulder before heading back into the crowded room. 

Poison moved through the halls as quickly as he could. The second he got to his room, he unlocked the door and flopped down onto his bunk. It still hadn’t sunk in. It fucking hurt, yeah, but he couldn’t truly bring himself to face the fact that Ghoul _didn’t know him._ He was just like any of the other patients, mindless and devoid of color… 

He was _scared_ of Poison. 

Poison buried his face in the mattress. There were no words to describe how he felt. He was floating in a sea of misery, and it was all kinds of pathetic, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He just wanted to sleep. 

The door slid open. Poison didn’t look up.

“You look terrible,” said Ghoul.

“I know,” said Poison, his voice muffled. “I feel like shit.”

“Well… good.” The other mattress creaked; Ghoul must have sat down. “You should feel bad. You’re a terrorist, you know that?”

“That’s not why I feel bad,” Poison growled. “I’d never apologize for that.”

He finally looked up to see Ghoul looking back at him, unimpressed. “Well, don’t expect me to be your shoulder to cry on. You’re the one keeping me hostage.”

Poison sighed. “You’re angry, huh?”

“Yeah, I am. And don’t go off on that spiel about feelings being freedom, blah blah blah. That Pete guy already told me. You swapped out my pills and stuff. I get it. It certainly explains a lot of things that have been happening lately, but it doesn’t make me any more inclined to like you. Actually, it sort of makes things worse. Why would anyone want these negative emotions?” Ghoul scowled. “I was fine before you came along.”

“You’ll understand after a while,” Poison said wearily. “Just… I don’t know, man, you’ve heard everything we have to say. Hearing isn’t enough, though. You’ve gotta really listen. Gotta take it to heart.”

Ghoul shook his head in disbelief. “You’re freaks,” he said. “You’re the only reason Battery City isn’t safe. You-- you kill draculoids, you run around with guns… I’m supposed to take that to heart? No way!”

Poison rolled over to face the wall. He couldn’t stand to listen anymore.

“I’d never follow a _killjoy_ ,” Ghoul spat, as if the word were something despicable. 

Poison bit back an angry retort. Ghoul didn’t know what he was saying. He didn’t know _anything._

But the anger quickly melted into a duller sort of pain, and he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. 

_I’ll fix him. I’ll fix him, and things will get better._

***

When Poison woke up, Fun Ghoul was gone.

Poison stared at his empty bunk for a moment before jumping up. “Shit, _shit_!” He burst out the door and headed straight for Pete’s room, pounding on the door until it slid open to reveal Gabe. 

“Poison?” he asked, his eyes bleary with sleep. “Wha’s up?”

“Ghoul’s gone. Where’s Pete?” Poison demanded.

“Oh, Brobeck called him up for something.” Gabe paused. “Wait, did you say Ghoul’s gone?”

“Yes! He’s not in the room, I-- fuck, I’ll go find Pete. Talk to you later.” Poison dashed down the hall and headed for the waiting room, his heart in his throat. It had never occurred to him that Ghoul actually might try to _escape._ What if he got himself hurt? What if he told BLi where the juviehalls were hiding?

Poison raced around a corner and slammed straight into someone, knocking them both off their feet.

Ghoul sighed heavily. “Should’ve known it’d be you.”

“Thank god,” Poison said, too relieved to dwell on the way Ghoul was eyeing him with contempt. “Where were you?”

“Lost. This place is impossible to navigate.”

Poison laughed. “Yeah, I had the same problem when I first got here.” He pushed himself to his feet and offered his hand to Ghoul. Ghoul swatted him away and stood up, dusting himself off. 

“I assume you’re going to cart me off somewhere? Apparently, I’m not allowed anywhere on my own.”

“You need supervision until you get your memories back,” said Poison.

Ghoul snorted. “Yeah, you keep saying that. What I don’t want them back, though? What if I’m happy the way I am? Would that be such a shocker?”

“Yes. It would be,” Poison said quietly. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“And I’m content to stay that way. I told you, I don’t condone the things you do, and I’m not joining you. You’ll have to realize that sooner or later.”

Poison shook his head slowly. “No, I really think I won’t.”

Ghoul rolled his eyes. “Have it your way, then. Don’t let me go anywhere alone. You’ll get tired of it, I know you will. Then you’ll have to let me go.”

_I’m never letting you go._

“Come on,” Poison muttered. “We’re gonna go find Pete.”

He made sure Ghoul was following before starting off down the hall. When they got to the waiting room, he knocked on the door and waited for it to open.

Nothing happened.

“Hello?” Poison said loudly. “Let me in, Brobeck, I need to talk to Pete.”

A minute later, the door slid open, revealing a very frazzled-looking Pete. “Hey, Poison. Sorry, I thought you and the others were all sleeping in, a-and I just had to come up, I had to.” He wrung his hands anxiously. “It was all so sudden. Sorry for not leaving a note or anything.”

“Wait, what?” Poison frowned. “What’s going on?”

Pete’s eyes widened. “Oh. Shit, right, I forgot to… Here.” He stepped back from the door.

Standing in the middle of the waiting room was Killer King, looking utterly exhausted.

“Hi,” he said. “Did you miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a lil shitty but at least its SPICY
> 
> (me @ myself: how about we don't go overboard with the angst
> 
> me: interesting thought. interesting thought! but no)
> 
> happy holidays my loves!


	7. Your Smiles Are Givin' Me All Types of Treble

“I know I was an asshole,” Killer said quietly. “You’re just gonna have to forgive me, though, ‘cause I’m not sorry. It’s not like I got mad for no reason. Sandman, you were an asshole too. But I think it’d be better if we just put it behind us, yeah? We can just move on to more important things.”

Pete nodded slowly. “I think that’s fair.” He paused. “Are you saying you forgive me?”

“Yeah, I forgive you. I’m still pissed, don’t get me wrong, but as long as we get Ryan back, I think I forgive you.”

Pete smiled tentatively. “Cool. Y’know, all the patients in the Third Eye are still alive... We saw ‘em on the cameras. We should be able to get in soon; our latest missions have gone pretty well.” 

Killer looked to Poison and Ghoul for the first time, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah, I can see that. How the hell did you manage to get him out?”

Poison shrugged. “I have no idea. I don’t like how easy at was, but at least he’s with us now.”

Ghoul frowned. “You’re talking about me, and I don’t know why.”

Killer ignored him. “You gotta give me details later, man. There’s no way you’re sneaky enough to get in and out without a fight. It’s almost like…” His voice trailed off. “It’s almost like they wanted him here. And if that’s true, we’re in some real fuckin’ trouble.” He looked to Ghoul again, this time with suspicion. “Has he been acting weird at all?”

“Weird as you’d expect,” Poison said defensively. “He doesn’t remember anything, obviously, but he’ll be totally normal when he does.”

“Right, so I’m invisible, got it,” said Ghoul. “Seriously, you do realize I can hear you?”

“We should have a meeting, I want to know everything that’s happened,” Killer said distractedly. Ghoul sighed. “Is New Americana around?”

“Yeah, I think so,” said Pete. “She helped with the Crystal Ball mission. C’mon, I’ll take you to her.” He beckoned Killer out of the waiting room. On their way out, Killer stopped in the doorway and grinned at Poison.

“I’m diggin’ the new hair color, by the way.”

***

“Most of the patients are coming along pretty well,” Pete murmured, staring at his computer screen. He was wearing a thick pair of headphones, shifted away from his ear on one side so he could hear. “You know the guy with the brown hair? He was definitely a killjoy. He looks familiar, but I can’t remember his name for the life of me.”

“There are, like, four of them with brown hair,” Poison pointed out

“But he’s the one with the sidebangs. The one with the _face_ , come on.” Pete looked up from his laptop, gesturing vaguely. “Like, that _guy._ I think he had blue hair at one point?”

Poison shrugged. “There are a lot of killjoys out there, I don’t know ‘em all. I don’t know all the patients, either.” He paused. “Wait, wait. Are you thinking of Painted Wings?”

Pete snapped his fingers. “Yeah, him! He’s doing really well, probably the best out of this batch of patients. They’re all really getting into the swing of juvie life.”

“Except Ghoul,” Poison said with a wry smile. 

“Except him,” Pete conceded. “But BLi probably paid special attention to him, considering his history. It’s no wonder he’s taking a little longer to adjust. He’ll come around, man.”

“Yeah. I know he will.” Poison winced slightly. “I just wish it’d be sooner.” Ghoul didn’t seem to have warmed up to Poison in the slightest over the past few days, and on the limited occasions he willingly spoke to Poison, it was with his signature biting sarcasm. Poison was used to having it directed at him, but never with genuine malice behind it. 

_It’s just the pills talking_ , he told himself over and over. _Just the pills._

Pete returned his attention to his laptop. Poison frowned. “What’re you doing, man? You’ve been at that for hours.”

“Still trying to track down Hot Chimp,” Pete murmured. “I think she’s gotten more elusive since the last time I saw her. Her signal’s almost as hard to find as Dr. D’s.”

“Try Cherri Cola,” Poison suggested. “His station isn’t a big production like theirs. And I don’t know if Crybaby would’ve thought to contact him.”

“Mm-hmm. I tried him too. Could always try again, though, I guess...” Pete went quiet, and the sound of his clacking keyboard filled the room. Poison laid back on the bunk, staring at the ceiling. 

“Maybe I should do something productive,” he said out loud. “You’ve got this radio shit. Tyler’s off doing medical stuff. Gabe’s been taking a lot of shifts on guard duty. Dunno what Bob’s doing, but he’s never around anymore… And I’m just kinda sitting here.”

“I’m pretty sure Gabe only became a guard because it gets him closer to the Lobby. He’s single-handedly keeping the pornodroid economy afloat in his free time,” Pete mumbled. 

Poison laughed. “Yeah, probably. But seriously, d’you think I should lend my services somewhere?”

“Nah. You’ve got a lot on your plate. Keeping an eye on Ghoul counts as a legit job. Plus, you’re one of Crybaby’s top picks for supply runs, dude. If that’s not productive work, I don’t know what is.”

“I’m not doing either of those things now, though, I’m just sitting here with you.”

Pete shrugged. “You’re taking a break, that’s fine. You were planning on going to check on Ghoul soon anyway, weren’t you?”

Poison raised an eyebrow. “How’d you know?”

“Because you haven’t left him alone for more than two hours in all the time he’s been here, and you’ve _never_ left him unsupervised. Face it, Poison, you’re the overprotective one in that relationship.”

Poison rolled his eyes. “It’s not overprotective if it’s completely warranted.”

“Fair point… I guess you could help out in the kitchens or something if you’re that worried about helping out, but you don’t really need to.” Pete’s eyes reflected the bright glow of his laptop. He was silent for a long time, and Poison could tell he was sinking into what he called _the zone_. Soon enough, he would become completely unresponsive. 

Poison slid off the bunk and pushed a button to open the door. “Be back later.” Pete made no indication that he had heard, but Poison thought the message got across.

He had left Ghoul with Tyler. When he arrived at the medical wing, he found Tyler nervously attempting conversation and not having much luck. At the sight of Poison, Ghoul’s features immediately slipped into a scowl.

“Would you look at that, my shadow’s back,” he said by way of greeting. 

“Just can’t keep myself away,” said Poison, forcing a casual tone. “Did you miss me?”

“Like a hole in the head.”

Poison sat down on the counter of Tyler’s work station. “I missed you too, babe.” His hand darted out to ruffle Ghoul’s hair, and just barely succeeded before Ghoul jumped away. 

“Can you quit stalking me?” said Ghoul, keeping the furthest possible distance away from Poison. “It’s not helping anything. Just do yourself a favor and give up on me.”

“Never,” Poison said cheerfully. “Not ‘til you renounce BLi… _and_ tell me I’m pretty.”

“Well, brace yourself, then, ‘cause it ain’t gonna happen,” Ghoul snapped. 

_Just the pills. Just the pills._

Poison frowned. “You don’t think I’m pretty?” He leaned over to Ghoul until there were mere inches of space between them. Locks of red hair fell in a curtain in front of his face. He looked up into Ghoul’s eyes, smirking. “You sure about that?”

“Go away,” Ghoul muttered, scooting his chair back. 

Poison let his confident facade slip just long enough to sigh.

***

Killer paced back and forth across the room. “I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna find Benzedrine. I’ve been searching ever since we left the Third Eye; I know I said I wouldn’t, but I couldn’t just stop working after I’ve spent so long chasing him, y’know? For his sake, if not yours.”

Pete nodded, barely able to conceal the excitement in his eyes. “Did you get any leads?”

“Nothing so far. But there are a good few rehab centers in this city, he could be in any of them. I just need time.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” said Ghoul, looking appalled. “The people in those centers are _happy_. You’re taking away any chance they have at a future!”

“Poison, get him out of here,” Killer said. “I appreciate the sentiment of keeping him nearby, but he definitely doesn’t need to hear this.” Poison nodded and guided a fuming Ghoul out the door.

“Why are you so determined to screw everything up?” Ghoul demanded once they were outside. “The people of Battery City--”

“Are zombies,” Poison finished. “Do you really believe it’s better to be completely numb than to feel?”

“Yes,” Ghoul said firmly.

“Why?”

“Feelings are terrible. They’re confusing, a-and painful, and they add _so_ much unnecessary struggle to a person’s life, can’t you see that?” Ghoul waved his hands agitatedly. “I just-- I don’t understand. Why would you want something like that?”

“Because it’s something other than endless monotony,” Poison said, glaring at Ghoul. “It reminds me I’m alive. On the pills, everything just seems pointless. You go through the motions of life, but there’s no spark. You’re a walking corpse. Going to the desert was the best thing that ever happened to me. I’ve seen shit you can’t even imagine, _felt_ things you couldn’t imagine, but I still think it’s worth it. ‘Cause at the end of the day, there are things that make me happy, too.”

“So, you’re saying the positives outweigh the negatives,” Ghoul said skeptically. “I don’t buy it.”

“I don’t think you have much experience with positivity,” Poison said quietly. “You never let yourself see the bright side.”

Ghoul barked a laugh. “Right. ‘Cause this creepy fortress where everyone tries to control me is just _full_ of hidden positivity.”

“It could be, if you just gave it a chance,” Poison said, frustrated. “Why can’t you even try? There’s no way you don’t see what I’m talking about. You must have memories dancing around in there somewhere. They’re taunting you, right? Why not chase them? Frankie, I--”

“Don’t call me that,” Ghoul snarled.

Poison examined him closely. His fists were clenched at his sides; his eyes wild with anger, but not just anger. There was something Poison recognized… Was it fear? No.

It was grief.

“Why not?” Poison asked. 

“Because,” Ghoul muttered. “Just… don’t.”

“No, really. Why not?” Poison insisted. “It’s just a name, Frankie, why--”

“Because I can almost remember it, and _I don’t want to._ ”

Poison stopped short.

“Happy now?” Ghoul spat. “Look, I’m not stupid. I see the way you look at me. I don’t know you, but for some freaking reason, you care about me. And if I really mean so much to you, you should see that this isn’t what I want. Don’t you try and force my memories back. Respect _my_ wishes for once, not the ones you’re projecting onto me. Can you do that? Are you even capable of empathy?”

Poison was at a loss for words.

“Yeah,” said Ghoul. “That’s what I thought.”

***

The second Poison’s door slid open, Pete was bursting inside, brandishing his laptop. “Poison, guess what! Guess what I did?”

“What?” Poison asked. 

Pete shoved a pair of headphones into Poison’s hands, waiting for him to slip them on as he entered a few commands into his computer. Through the crackle of static, Poison could hear a broadcast fading in and out.

_”Moments… for the clap in Zone 3, we… distance… away with the tide. Remember, you…”_

“Oh my God, that’s Cherri!” Poison said delightedly. 

“Yeah! It took me ages to get a lock on him. He might have less protection on his signal than the other DJs, but he doesn’t have a consistent schedule like they do. He kept slipping through my fingers. But now we’re tuned in, so if I can just get rid of the interference, we’ll hear every broadcast!”

“Can you get a message back to him?”

“I’m working on that,” said Pete, jumping onto Poison’s bunk. Ghoul, who was sitting on the adjacent bunk, shifted as far away as he could without falling off the mattress. “Think he’ll recognize my voice after all this time?”

“That’s not the question you should be asking. The question is, will he believe you’re still alive? The whole desert thinks we got ghosted.”

“He’ll listen,” Pete said confidently. “He’s always thought of death a little differently than most.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Poison went quiet. “Y’think he slipped anything into the mailbox for us?”

“Definitely,” said Pete. “The day that guy stops believing in the Phoenix Witch is the day the sun goes black.”

Ghoul pushed off the bunk and pressed the button to open the door. The second it was open, he was gone.

Pete blinked after him, confused. “Was it something I said?”

“Maybe,” Poison said. “He’s been having some… issues, I guess.”

Pete glanced over at him. “You’re gonna follow him, right?”

Poison shook his head slowly. “Nah. I think he just needs some space… and Brobeck’s always watching the cams, so there’s no real danger in letting him leave.”

Pete’s eyes narrowed. “Did Ghoul say something to you? It’s just BLi speaking through him, Poison, you’ve gotta know that. He’s all hopped up on the meds.”

“He didn’t say anything!” Poison said defensively. “He just…” Pete gave him a look, and he sighed in surrender. “Yeah, okay. The other day, we were talking, and I said something that reminded him of the desert, I guess. Not something important, obviously, I’m not stupid. It was just an old nickname, I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“And?” Pete prompted.

“And… do you remember how it was when I was medicated? How I would always be so close to remembering, but not quite there?” Poison asked. Pete nodded. “I think that’s what Ghoul’s going through. Except…” He hesitated. “Ghoul doesn’t _want_ to remember.”

“What?” said Pete, looking at Poison as if he were crazy. “Poison, it’s just the pills--”

“But it isn’t,” Poison interrupted. “It isn’t. If the pills were having such a strong effect on him, he wouldn’t be so close to remembering. He wouldn’t be lashing out all the time. It’s something else, it’s got to be.”

Pete lowered the lid of his laptop, looking thoughtful. “It’s probably just mental. BLi must have really done a number on him… But if we just give him some time, he’ll listen.” He frowned. “You know we’re going to fix this, right? He’ll get better.”

“I can’t accept any other outcome,” said Poison. 

“Good. Just keep that in mind.” Pete opened his laptop again, and lowered his voice to a murmur. “Cherri Cola, Cherri Cola, wherefore art thou…”

***

“That Crybaby girl is nuts,” Ghoul announced, shoving his way into the room. “Completely and utterly insane.”

Poison laughed. “I’d disagree, but…” 

“I’m pretty sure she’s going to snap and kill us all one day,” Ghoul said darkly. He sat down at the desk, swiveling the chair to face the computer. 

“What’d she do?” Poison asked.

Ghoul waved a hand vaguely. “Nothing in particular. Just… the way she _talks._ ” 

Poison understood that. He would have accepted much less as proof of her insanity, but something was off. He knew what Ghoul sounded like when he wasn’t telling the truth, and right now, he was lying through his teeth.

“Frank,” Poison said cautiously. “What’d she say?”

Ghoul visibly twitched, but kept his eyes on the computer screen. “Nothing. Just her weird baby-talk shit.”

Poison raised his eyebrows. He didn’t think he’d heard Ghoul curse once in all the time they’d been at the base. 

“She always drops hints,” Ghoul muttered. “But I don’t know what they’re _for_ , and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to.”

Poison’s heart sank. He could just imagine Crybaby giggling to herself as she taunted Ghoul, baiting him with reminders of a near-forgotten past. 

Well, maybe she wasn’t _that_ cruel, but Poison wouldn’t put it past her to drop numerous references that Ghoul couldn’t understand. 

“What did she say?”

Ghoul’s fingers moved slowly across the keyboard. “Go away. I’m writing.”

“Frank, what did she say?” Poison asked.

“Back off,” Ghoul snapped. “It’s no big deal, all right? She keeps teasing me about you, that’s all. I don’t know why.”

Oh. Now _that_ , Poison could definitely see. Crybaby had always seemed fascinated by their relationship. Hell, she might not even mean any harm. She just thought she was playing matchmaker.

Poison sighed. It was unavoidable; he’d have to go and talk to her again.

“Why does it bother you so much?” he asked Ghoul.

Ghoul turned to glare at him. “I said, I don’t _know_ , okay? It’s just uncomfortable. How would you feel if there was this guy constantly on your back, forcing you into a life you didn’t want, and a crazy lady told you the best way to fix things was to kiss and make up? Huh?”

“Well, if the guy was as pretty as me, I don’t think I’d mind,” said Poison.

Ghoul shook his head, scowling. “Fuck you, man.” He pushed his chair away from the computer and climbed into his bunk.

A heavy silence fell over the room. After a while, Poison got up to flick the lights off. He didn’t look at Ghoul as he went to lie down.

He didn’t look until a few hours later, when night had fallen and stolen away the last traces of light. 

Ghoul had turned around to face the wall. He was curled into a tight ball, somehow looking tense even in sleep. Poison could see his chest slowly rising and falling. If they were in a different time, a different world, Poison would have gotten up and wrapped himself around Ghoul without a second thought. He couldn’t do that now.

But it was so tempting.

Ghoul shifted in his sleep, breathing a quiet sigh. Like this, Poison could almost pretend things were normal. When Ghoul was asleep, he couldn’t look at Poison with loathing in his eyes, couldn’t speak a word about juviehalls or killjoys or any of the people he should have loved. He could only lay silently, looking as innocent as he ever could.

Poison could barely stand to see Ghoul in his brainwashed state, but seeing him like this, so close to normal, but so far away; it was too much. His heart twisted painfully, adding a sharper edge to the ache that had plagued him the moment he set eyes on Ghoul. But at least he wasn’t numb. At least he could remember the reason this hurt so much.

Ghoul shifted again, rolling over so Poison could see his face. His eyes were shut tight, his mouth curled into a frown. One hand twitched against his sheets.

“I’ll fix you,” Poison whispered, his voice barely audible. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and tried again. “I’m gonna fix this, Ghoul, everything’s gonna be okay.”

Ghoul was still sound asleep, but for a moment, Poison thought his frown softened.

Then it came back in full force. Ghoul curled tighter into himself, and he let out a sound Poison could only describe as a whimper. It wasn’t unfamiliar. Every killjoy had nightmares, but Ghoul’s had always been the worst. Poison couldn’t count the number of times he’d woken to the sound of him screaming. 

In the Third Eye, Poison’s dreams had vanished. They were starting to come back now that he was off the pills, but Ghoul was still medicated... He shouldn’t have been having dreams at all, much less nightmares. Why would he still be having them? 

Had he been having them all this time?

Poison had a sudden vision of Ghoul, all alone in a blank white room, shaking with inexplicable fear that pills would do nothing to ease.

He shoved his blanket away and crawled into Ghoul’s bunk without a second thought.

Ghoul really was shaking now, trembling and mumbling in his sleep; he was the very picture of terror. Poison reached out and ran his finger across his cheek.

“Wake up,” he said softly. “Wake up, Frankie, you’re okay.” Ghoul shuddered, and Poison couldn’t help but lean in and press a kiss to his forehead. “C’mon,” he murmured. “You’re safe. Wake up.”

He shook Ghoul’s shoulder as lightly as he could, and Ghoul jerked upright with a gasp. 

“They-- no, no,” he said, eyes wild with fear. “Stop it, I--”

“Shh,” said Poison, pulling Ghoul into his arms. “You’re fine. It was just a dream.” He stroked Ghoul’s hair softly, holding him through the tremors. His hair was getting longer now, starting to curl over his neck. Soon enough, he would look just as he had in the desert, only with a lot less grease in his hair and a lot more white in his clothing. 

At one point, Ghoul tried to speak, but all he could manage was a choked sob, clinging weakly to Poison’s shirt.

“Does this happen often?” Poison asked quietly. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Ghoul nodded. 

“Even in the Crystal Ball?”

There was a pause, then Ghoul nodded once more.

Poison sighed. He didn’t want to ask the question, but he couldn’t make it go away. He pulled back to look Ghoul in the eyes. “What do you dream about?” he asked gently. 

Ghoul swallowed hard. “Don’t know. I always forget,” he whispered. “There’s always this f-feeling, though. Right here.” He placed a shaking hand on his chest. “Like I’m dying. Like someone _else_ is dying.”

Poison laid his hand over Ghoul’s. “It’s not real, Frankie.” He wished he could know if he was telling the truth. 

Ghoul shook his head slightly. “No. It never goes away. Every night… These tremors, no, they’re worse than tremors, they’re these terrors…” He touched a hand to his neck. “A-and it feels as if somebody was gripping my throat, squeezing--”

_They slammed him to the ground, choking the breath from his lungs until his struggling grew weaker and weaker. But even as they held him fast, he managed to spit a mouthful of blood into the drac’s face. He was fighting, still fighting, maybe there was still hope--_

_But then his eyes locked onto Poison, and the spark was extinguished._

“Oh my God,” Poison whispered. 

“What?” Ghoul asked. “What is it?”

“Nothing, I just… I’m sorry.” Poison’s heart broke a little bit with every second he spent looking at Ghoul, his eyes filled with a hurt he couldn’t even remember. This was the most vulnerable Poison had ever seen him. Ghoul had let Poison see parts of him he never showed to anyone else, but Poison had still never seen him like this; looking small and scared, with tears tracing down his cheeks. 

“You remember,” Ghoul said quietly. “Don’t you? The dreams, you know why they’re happening.”

Poison nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Then why can’t you see?” Ghoul asked, suddenly frantic. “Why don’t you understand?” He grabbed onto Poison’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “I don’t want to have to live with this! It hurts so much when I’m _asleep_ , what’s going to happen when I’m awake? I don’t want to remember, I don’t, don’t make me, Gee--”

He shuddered and shrank away from Poison. “Shit,” he said thickly.

Poison reached out tentatively, and when Ghoul made no further attempt to escape, took hold of his hand once more. “I’m not gonna make you remember. Not until you’re ready.”

“I don’t want to,” Ghoul whimpered.

_You’ll have to eventually._

“It’ll be okay,” Poison murmured. “Do you trust me?”

He braced himself for a negative answer, but instead, Ghoul nodded. 

“Okay,” Poison breathed. “That’s… That’s good. Just keep trusting me, all right? I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Ghoul took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay.”

He laid back down on the mattress, but didn’t let go of Poison’s hand. After a moment of deliberation, Poison laid down beside him and wrapped one arm around Ghoul’s waist, fitting their bodies together like puzzle pieces. 

Ghoul’s breathing gradually began to slow. 

Poison didn’t know what to think. This sure as hell wasn’t a good situation, and he knew it would be at the forefront of his thoughts the moment he woke up. How could he just promise not to remind Ghoul of what he _needed_ to remember?

But for once, Ghoul seemed to have let his guard down, and there was no way Poison was going to walk away now that Ghoul had let him in.

So Poison held him close, letting the sound of his peaceful breathing carry him off to sleep.

***

“Yes! Yes, yes, _yes_!” Pete waved his headphones in the air, grinning widely. “Poison, come look! I got ‘im!” 

Poison snatched at the headphones, pulling them down over his ears.

 _”Hello?”_ said a familiar voice.

“Cherri!” said Poison, thrilled. “Is that you?”

 _”Yes. Who’s this?”_ Cherri asked. 

“Come on, man, don’t tell me you don’t recognize my voice.” 

_”I…”_ There was a pause. _”No way.”_

“Yes way,” Poison said smugly. “What, you thought a little weekend trip to Bat City would put me out of commission? O ye of little faith.”

 _”Party Poison?”_ Poison could almost see the dumbfounded look on Cherri’s face. _”Is that really you? But-- how are you alive?”_

“That’s a damn long story. Hey, I’ve got a question. You remember the Suitehearts? And all the other ‘joys that went missing?” Poison settled back against the wall, twirling the cord between his fingers. “I found ‘em. Sandman’s sitting right next to me.”

“Oh, you found _me_?” said Pete, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not how I remember it happening.”

“Shut up, Sandman, I’m talking to Cherri. So, Cherri, fill me in. What’ve I missed?”

 _”Wait, wait! You can’t just leave me hanging like that!”_ Cherri protested. _”You-- you have to explain everything. W-what’s going on? What happened to you? Are Fun Ghoul and the Girl with you? Are you safe?”_

“One thing at a time, dude.” Poison glanced over at Ghoul, who was determinedly looking away from them. He couldn’t hear Cherri’s end of the conversation, thank the Sand and Sun. “Um… _He’s_ here, _she_ isn’t. It’s complicated. We’re pretty safe at the moment, though. You ever hear of a girl called Crybaby?”

_”No.”_

“She’s a juviehall. Man, the juvies have the shiniest setup here! I never would’ve believed it if I hadn’t seen it, it’s actually ridiculous how much they can get away with. I think Crybaby might be communicating with Dr. D, maybe Hot Chimp too, but I can’t be sure. And I don’t know if you’re on her radar at all,” said Poison. “Sorry about that.”

 _”It’s fine. I’m just glad we managed to get in contact,”_ said Cherri. _So, you’re staying with this Crybaby?”_

“Yeah. I really hope you’ve got a free schedule, though, ‘cause explaining _how_ we got here is gonna take a while.”

 _”I’m all ears. I just… wow. I can’t believe you’re alive, Poison,”_ said Cherri, sounding awed. _”Everyone thinks you’re dead. We mourned you.”_

Poison smiled. “Ah, that’s sweet. D’you think I could pull off pretending to be a zombie when I come back?”

 _”Definitely not. You’d be dusted on sight. But you are coming back, aren’t you?”_ Cherri asked, suddenly anxious. _”It can’t be safe to stay in the city for too long.”_

“It’s not so bad, actually,” Poison said mildly. “I don’t know all the details about when we’re leaving. Surprisingly enough, I’m not the one in charge here. But Sandman probably does-- you want me to put him on?”

 _”Yeah, absolutely! And can you put Ghoul on after him? I want to know everything that’s happened,”_ Cherri said eagerly.

Poison winced. “I can put Sandman on, but the other one, not so much. Like I said, it’s complicated.”

Cherri paused. _”Is Ghoul hurt?”_

“Not exactly. I can’t explain right now, but I promise I’ll tell you soon, okay?”

_”All right.”_

Poison passed the headphones to Pete. 

“What’s up, Cola?” Pete greeted. There was a pause, and he laughed. “Yeah, tell me about it… Uh-huh. Well, BLi has these places called ‘rehabilitation centers.’ They take killjoys and feed ‘em pills, try and make them into citizens, you get the picture. I was in one of those when Poison showed up…”

Poison listened as Pete spun his tale, occasionally interrupting to correct certain details. But for the most part, Pete had it under control, and with time, Poison’s eyes wandered to Ghoul.

He was staring up at the ceiling, but he couldn’t disguise the fact that he was listening to Pete, too.

***

“Party Poison, just the man I’m looking for,” Brobeck said cheerfully, standing up behind his counter. “Killer wants you.”

Poison sighed, lifting the mask from his face. “Does he never think to just ask where I am? I was out with Selfish Machine on a supply run, that’s common fuckin’ knowledge if you just--”

“Poison,” said Brobeck. “It’s urgent.”

Poison stopped. “Oh. Well, why didn’t you say something sooner?” 

“They’re waiting in meeting room one.”

Poison nodded and tossed his mask to Brobeck, who caught it and stowed it beneath the counter. Poison waited for him to open the door and passed through it quickly. 

The meeting room wasn’t too far away. He found it easily and knocked on the door, which opened almost instantaneously. Poison caught a glimpse of chaos before Killer was dragging him inside.

Pete was pacing up and down the room, near-hysterical, while Tyler hovered over his shoulder, offering words of encouragement. Gabe sat at the table with his feet kicked up, carefully observing the spectacle. 

“Okay,” Poison said slowly. “What the hell happened?”

Killer sat down on the edge of the table. “I’ve been looking for Benzedrine for years now, but there was one place I never thought to look. One place that would’ve been too well guarded for me to learn anything even if I tried.”

“Oh my God,” said Poison, eyes wide. “You found him?”

“Yeah,” Killer said grimly. 

“Where is he?”

Pete made a pained noise.

Killer let out a slow breath. “He’s in Linda Vista, Poison.”

Poison drifted over to his side, sitting down on the table with him. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, _shit._ ”

“Yeah,” Pete said miserably. “There’s no way we’re getting in there.”

“And it gets worse,” Killer said heavily. “That Doctor Addy lady was hanging around, too. I think she must’ve worked there before she transferred over to the Third Eye.”

At that moment, the door slid open to reveal Bob. “Hey, guys,” he said nervously. “What’s up?”

“Where the hell have you been? I called for you, like, half an hour ago,” Killer snapped. 

“I was running an errand for Baby Snake,” said Bob, looking wounded. “It takes a while to get back down from the surface. I would’ve been here sooner if I could’ve.”

Killer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. It’s just, you’re always off taking walks or some shit, I never know where you are. I’ve got news. And it’s important.”

Bob motioned for him to continue.

“We found Benzedrine, but he’s trapped in Linda Vista, and I don’t know how we’re gonna get him out. Whatever lucky streak got you into the Crystal Ball won’t hold much longer.”

Bob froze. “O-oh my God. That’s not good.”

“Understatement of the year,” Poison said under his breath. 

“We can’t give up, though!” said Tyler. “We can figure something out. We’ve done things that should’ve been impossible before, right?”

Pete flashed him a grateful look. “Yeah. We’ll find a way.”

“Poison,” said Killer. “How much do you remember about Linda Vista?”

Poison chewed on his lip. “Not much, honestly. But from what I can remember… It makes me glad I don’t know the rest.”

_A tiny, boxlike room. A line of stitches running up his forearm that hadn’t been there before. Tracing words onto the walls in his own blood, muttering feverishly as he fought off the drowsiness, a thick, chemical scent flooding his nostrils. Nightmares. Visions. His throat raw from screaming._

_Over and over and over and over._

Pete buried his face in his hands, letting out a noise of distress. Poison didn’t want to imagine the things Benzedrine was being put through, and it was clear that Pete didn’t want to, either.

“Benzedrine was taken from the desert a while ago… Earlier than Poison, even. But killjoys usually get transferred to rehab centers, don’t they? Why’s he still in Linda Vista?” Bob wondered out loud. 

“I don’t _know_ ,” Pete groaned. “Linda Vista’s supposed to be for big-name troublemakers. It makes sense that they’d put him there, he was pretty popular in the zones, but I don’t know why they kept him so long. He’s not… He’s not, I don’t know, _violent_ or anything. I know he’d fight them until his last breath, but he’s not one of those ‘joys who just shoot without thinking. He always felt bad about killing. Even with dracs. He’s not the type to require extra rehabilitation.”

“If he’s been in there longer than _I_ was,” said Poison, “Then that’s really, really bad.”

Silence filled the room.

“Well, we’re not going to get anywhere by sitting here and brooding,” Gabe said abruptly. “Let’s make a plan.”

Killer nodded. “Linda Vista isn’t like anything we’ve tackled before. It’s much better guarded. I found Benzedrine through dumb luck; I was in the area when I found Addy, so I tailed her for a while, and I heard his name slip.”

“His old name?” Pete asked quietly.

“Yeah. The point is, this won’t be accomplished with a little hacking and some stolen ID cards. It could come to a fight.”

“Exactly the kind of fight we wanted to avoid at the Third Eye,” said Poison. 

“Explosions, guns, the whole shebang,” Killer agreed. “We’ll need a lot of people on our side. I can start making rounds through the city, try to convince some juvies.”

“Sounds good,” said Pete, forcing an optimistic tone. “Let’s get the job done.”

Poison eyed him carefully. He knew from experience that Pete had probably been better off before he knew where Benzedrine was. Now, he would be even more worried, and even more impatient.

And his impatience wouldn’t be relieved as easily as Poison’s had been. 

***

Poison ran through the checklist Killer had given him, scribbling out a few items and circling others. His pen scratched softly against the paper. Across the room, Ghoul was hunched over the computer, absorbed in something Poison couldn’t see. 

His nightmares hadn’t stopped, but during daylight hours, he would pretend as if nothing had happened. It was driving Poison nuts.

“What are you doing?” Poison asked. He circled “talk to Brobeck about scouting mission”, then set his pen down, looking up at Ghoul. Ghoul didn’t look back.

“What are _you_ doing?” he murmured instead.

“Laying the framework for mission impossible,” said Poison. 

That got Ghoul’s attention. He looked up from the computer, frowning slightly. “You’re still trying to get people out of the rehab centers?”

“Uh, yeah. Why wouldn’t we be?”

Ghoul shrugged. “Dunno. I thought you might’ve given up… But I guess I should know by now that you never let shit go.”

“Yeah.” Poison glanced down at his list. “You know, you could probably help, if you wanted to.”

Ghoul snorted. “As if. First of all, that mission’s bullshit. There’s no way you’ll make it out alive. Second of all, it keeps you busy, which means it keeps you away from me. Why would I spoil a sweet deal like that by getting involved?”

Poison sighed. So nothing had changed, then. 

“And how come this computer keeps blocking every website I go to?” Ghoul muttered, more to himself than Poison.

Poison raised an eyebrow. “Depends, what the fuck are you trying to look at?”

“Nothing,” Ghoul said shortly.

“Please don’t tell me you’re trying to find porn on a computer that doesn’t even belong to you.”

Ghoul scowled. “Fuck you. One of the hacker people said these computers had access to BLi’s archives, but apparently, they should’ve said _everyone except me_ has access, ‘cause this dumb thing won’t let me read them.”

Poison tried to lean over Ghoul’s shoulder to see the screen, but he shifted it away. Poison frowned. “I can’t help if you don’t let me see.”

“Sure you can. Just tell me why it keeps saying ‘please log in as a different user to access this page.’”

“Ohhh,” Poison said. “Okay. Did you put in the numbers from your ID card in order to log in?” Ghoul nodded. “That’d be why, then. There’s shit you can’t see yet, not until you decide to join our side.”

Ghoul closed the window and pushed his chair out, sighing deeply. “Great. That’s fucking great. I’m gonna go somewhere that isn’t here, and you’re not gonna follow me, okay? I don’t need you or your killjoys or your juviehalls telling me what to do anymore.” He glared at Poison for a second before punching the button to open the door.

Before Poison could answer, he was sweeping out of the room.

Poison waited only a moment before jumping into the chair and pulling up his internet history.

He hadn’t been lying about the archives. Poison couldn’t see the page; as Ghoul had said, it was restricted. He copied the link and logged in with his own ID code.

When he entered it into the search bar, a page popped up with a list of names and conditions. Poison read through them, his brow furrowing as the list went on. Some of the names had other names paired with them, listed as “birth name” or “known associates.”

Some of the names he _recognized._

Charming Man; birth name, Steven Morrissey. Astro Zombie; birth name, Glenn Danzig. These were killjoys, these were _famous_ killjoys, people who had been dusted when Poison had barely learned to walk. 

_ALIAS: “ALADDIN SANE”_

_BIRTH NAME: UNKNOWN_

_KNOWN ASSOCIATES: “RED CORVETTE,” “BROWN SUGAR”_

_SUSPECTED ASSOCIATES: “UNDER PRESSURE”_

_EXTERMINATED IN ZONE 3 BY SCARECROW UNIT #291. THREE DRACULOIDS INCAPACITATED DURING EXTERMINATION PROCESS. ADDITIONAL TWO DRACULOIDS INJURED._

“Why were you trying to find _this_?” Poison wondered out loud. 

_EXTERMINATED IN ZONE 6 BY DRACULOID UNIT #1938._

_EXTERMINATED IN BATTERY CITY SLUMS BY DRACULOID UNIT #1762._

So many names… So many dead. 

_EXTERMINATED IN ZONE 1 BY DRACULOID UNIT #1208._

__No matter how many dracs or crows were killed, the results were always the same. The killjoy died. Sometimes, there were reports written by dracs, detailing how each killjoy had been captured and ghosted. The reports were mechanically written; they were meant to convey necessary information, and nothing more. They never spoke of exactly how the killjoys died. They didn’t include last words. Each ‘joy had been reduced to black words on a white screen, with nothing to paint a picture of their stories. Poison couldn’t imagine how bloody the true events had been._ _

__Why _had_ Ghoul been searching for this? It didn’t seem like something one of BLi’s perfect citizens would be interested in..._ _

__Poison smiled._ _

__***_ _

_”You know,”_ said Cherri. _”If you really need that much help, I could rally some ‘joys to the cause.”_

__Pete tapped his fingers on the table. “Mmm. It’s an idea.”_ _

__“Are you kidding?” said Poison, surprised. “It’s a great idea! If we can get the word out about what’s really going on in the city, we might end up with fewer rehabilitated killjoys. We can prepare them.”_ _

__“Going into Linda Vista is dangerous enough as it is,” Pete said heavily. “Do we really want to risk sending in a bunch of innocent people? We can warn them about the rehab centers, sure, but otherwise, they don’t deserve to get dragged into this. It’s got nothing to do with them.”_ _

__“The juviehalls don’t have anything to do with it, either,” Poison pointed out._ _

__“But they do, don’t they? This is their home. If shit like this was happening on your turf, wouldn’t you want to be involved?”_ _

_”Guys,”_ Cherri interrupted. _”You’re missing the bigger picture. We wouldn’t be dragging anyone in; do you even remember who you are? If word gets out that Party Poison and Mr. Sandman need help to rescue Dr. Benzedrine, you’ll have people tripping over themselves to get to you. You’re figureheads, the lot of you.”_

__“And that just adds another dimension to the problem,” said Pete, rubbing his eyes. There were dark shadows set beneath them. When he looked up, his face was dull as ever, with the same deadened look he’d been wearing for days. “This could get out of hand really goddamn fast. All we’re trying to do is save my best friend, not start a war.”_ _

_”Who do you think I’m going to tell, Val Velocity?”_ said Cherri, sounding slightly insulted. _”I was thinking more along the lines of Dr. D and Show Pony, or American Idiot and his crew. You know, people who’ll want to fight, but aren’t total bloodthirsty lunatics.”_

__“Dr. D doesn’t know?” said Pete, surprised. “I thought Crybaby would’ve contacted him.”_ _

_”Nope. I was planning on telling him soon, but I’ve been a little busy talking with you guys.”_

__Poison sighed. “Great. Another reason to go talk to Crybaby. Why didn’t I see this coming?” He pushed away from the table. “I’ll go ask her to ring up Dr. D... Don’t wait up, she’ll probably tie me to the chair so I can’t get away.”_ _

__Pete nodded. “I’ll join you in a while. I need to talk strategy with her.”_ _

__“I don’t understand how you can get anything strategic out of her,” Poison grumbled. “With me, it’s all just cryptic bullshit.”_ _

__The corner of Pete’s mouth twitched up. “That’s ‘cause she likes messing with you, dude.”_ _

__Poison flipped him off and walked out the door._ _

__The walk to Crybaby’s office was far too short. Poison’s mind was a whirl of old desert contacts, possible allies, and ways to help Pete; he almost passed right by Crybaby’s door without noticing._ _

__But the birthday cake sticker caught his eye, and he forced himself to stop and knock on the door._ _

__Crybaby opened it just as Poison shoved his key card into the scanner._ _

__“Do you have a way of talking to people in the desert?” he asked immediately._ _

__Crybaby frowned. “You know, Party Poison, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you only talk to me when you need something.”_ _

__“Killer King found Benzedrine,” said Poison._ _

__Crybaby’s mouth fell open, and her accusation was forgotten in an instant._ _

__“Did he _really_? Come in, come in! I want to hear everything!” She nearly tripped over her skirt in her haste to get back to her desk. The door hissed shut behind Poison as he took a seat before it._ _

__“Benzedrine’s in Linda Vista,” he said. “Me and Sandman have gotten in touch with a friend from the desert, and if we’re lucky, we could get some killjoys to come in and help us break inside.”_ _

__Crybaby bounced excitedly in her seat. “Yes, Mr. Sandman did tell me about his little radio project! I’m glad to see he’s been successful. Ooh, won’t it be a sight to see, all those killjoys blowing BLi’s precious work into smithereens…” She shivered with pleasure. “Do you have a plan?”_ _

__“Not yet, but you still haven’t answered my question. Do you have a way to get in touch with people outside the city? More specifically, have you talked to Dr. Death Defying lately?” Poison asked._ _

__“Yes to the first, no to the second,” Crybaby said casually._ _

__Poison frowned. “Wait, what? If you’ve got the means to, then why wouldn’t you?”_ _

__She giggled. “Well, isn’t it obvious? I thought you’d rather do it yourself.” She tapped the side of her nose, smirking up at Poison. “The moral of the story, Party Poison, is that you should talk to me more often. How am I supposed to know what you want me to do if you don’t tell me?”_ _

__Poison sighed. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now can you get Dr. D on the line, please?”_ _

__“Patience, dear.” Crybaby yanked one of her desk drawers open and pulled out a laptop. A set of headphones followed, then a snarl of cords, then a chunky box Poison couldn’t put a name to. It looked similar to the radio equipment he had occasionally used in the desert. Crybaby shook the cords until they loosened and untangled themselves, then plugged them in, connecting her tech and humming all the while._ _

__“I’ll let you do most of the talking,” she said as she slipped the headphones over her ears. “After all, this is your grand scheme.”_ _

__Poison shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not really mine. If it belonged to anyone, it’d be Sandman.”_ _

__“Or Killer King,” Crybaby murmured. “I don’t think you understand exactly how much he does for you.” She opened the laptop, then kicked her feet up onto her desk, smiling brightly. “Now, I’ve got no clue how to work this shit, so we’re just gonna have to wait for somebody who does!”_ _

__Poison stared. “Are you kidding me?” She shook her head, beaming._ _

__“Not at all! I’m a manager, not a hacker. I only keep this junk around in case Comeback Queen or somebody needs backup equipment.”_ _

__“Pete said he’d come by soon, I guess he can take over,” said Poison, eyeing the computer sitting on Crybaby’s desk._ _

__There was a brief stretch of silence._ _

__“You really don’t like me, huh?” Crybaby said abruptly._ _

__Poison raised an eyebrow. “You said it, not me.”_ _

__Crybaby continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “But you don’t _hate_ me. That’s the funny part.” She tilted her head slightly. “There’s so much anger inside you… I don’t need to have heard the stories to see it. I can feel it, all hot and righteous. It makes me wonder what’d happen if you let it out.”_ _

__Poison didn’t really know what to say to that._ _

__“But you haven’t let it out,” she said, frowning. Her eyes were wide with innocence, and the pink and black curls framing her face served only to make her look younger, like a confused little girl. “No matter what I do, you never blow up like they always say you will.”_ _

__Poison glanced at the door, willing Pete to knock and come to his rescue. No such luck._ _

__“I’ve heard so many stories,” said Crybaby, staring at him with fascination. “I can’t tell which ones are true. To some, you’re a hero. To others, you’re a terrorist. Neither title is wrong… But neither is quite right. You’re an open book, but at the same time, there are parts I can’t read.” She snapped her fingers suddenly. “If you could destroy this city, innocents and all, would you do it?”_ _

__Poison frowned. “Why do I--”_ _

__“Would you do it?” she repeated._ _

__“I don’t know,” Poison said, avoiding her eyes. “That’s too vague a question.”_ _

__“It doesn’t sound vague to me. You blow it sky high, and _boom_ , there goes BLi. You make them pay for everything they’ve done to you. To Fun Ghoul. To all the killjoys. The civilians die, too, though, and the juviehalls. Would that be worth it?”_ _

__“I don’t know,” Poison said uncomfortably. “I don’t think that’s a situation that’ll ever come up.”_ _

__Crybaby looked disappointed._ _

__“Just when I thought I’d met someone like me,” she muttered to herself. “You’re not like they say you are. Not so dangerous, not more than any other... You’re just a messy, messy human being.”_ _

__There came a knock on the door, and Poison jumped up to answer it. He could feel Crybaby’s eyes on his back as he opened the door to Pete._ _

__“Did you talk to Dr. D?” Pete asked, looking hopeful. Poison shook his head._ _

__Pete examined him closely, then glanced over to Crybaby. He definitely noticed the tension in the room, but he shook it off quickly, focusing instead on Crybaby’s desk. “Is that radio stuff?”_ _

__“Yep!” Crybaby said cheerfully. Poison turned to see her smiling brightly, all traces of disappointment wiped from her face. “Come and put it to good use, won’tcha?”_ _

__Pete pulled up a chair and sat down across from Crybaby, turning the computer to face him and booting it up. The room was filled with the noise of his clacking keys._ _

__Poison suddenly remembered the second reason he’d needed to speak with Crybaby._ _

__“By the way,” he said quietly, looking up at her. “Quit teasing Ghoul about me. In case you haven’t noticed, he kind of fucking hates me right now. You might think you’re helping, or that it’s fun, I don’t know, but you’re just upsetting him. So… cut it out.”_ _

__Crybaby smiled._ _

__“Oh, Poison, you really are dumber than the stories say,” she said softly. “He could never hate you.”_ _

__***_ _

__Talking to Cherri and Dr. D made Poison miss the desert more than ever. Aside from Ghoul, their voices were the first tangible connection to his old home he’d found in a long time. They anchored him to the zones, reminding him that after all this was over, they would be waiting for him._ _

Dr. D agreed almost instantly to help rescue Benzedrine. _”Christ, you think I’m heartless?”_ he’d said. _”That kid was the biggest sweetheart east of Battery City, no pun intended. I’d have to be crazy not to want him around again.”_

__Killer King adopted meeting room one as killjoy territory, and it quickly became one of Poison’s regular haunts. If he wasn’t on runs with the juviehalls, he was in his room with Ghoul, or chiming in as Killer made plans with Dr. D. If they were lucky, they would be able to get a group of killjoys into the city to help rescue Benzedrine. If they were _really_ lucky, the killjoys might stay to help infiltrate the rest of the rehab centers. Killer was confident that they would succeed, and with the way he was taking charge of the operation, Poison had trouble doubting him._ _

_”No, no. Dumpweed left the crew a few years back,”_ Dr. D was saying. Pete had successfully rigged the equipment so headphones were no longer needed, and the killjoys were huddled around the laptop, listening in. _”But you could probably get Reckless Abandon on the scene. I’m sure he’d be interested.”_

__“Wait, what?” said Gabe, looking shocked. “Dumpweed _left_? Why?”_ _

Dr. D made a vague noise. Poison could almost see him shrugging, brushing his bangs from his eyes. _”It happens. In all honesty, I’m surprised the whole crew didn’t unravel… You could feel the tension between ‘em for a while, like static creeping up your spine. They weren’t goin’ in the same direction anymore. It’s probably better off that they split. They’re doing okay without Dumpweed; they got this new kid around, Teenage Satellite. Making new music... I bet Reckless would dig a chance to try and out-punk you again, Poison.”_

__“I don’t doubt it,” Poison grinned. “How quick can you get ahold of him?”_ _

_”Are you kidding? Gimme five minutes, I’ll have him on his way.”_

__“Go ahead, then!” said Killer. “The sooner this thing kicks into high gear, the better, seriously. We’ll wait for you.”_ _

_”All right, just a minute.”_

__The line went dead, and Killer sat back in his chair, looking pleased. “We should have him talk to some weapons suppliers next. As soon as we’ve got enough people behind us, we can make battle plans.”_ _

__“I hope it’s enough,” Pete said nervously. Killer shoved him lightly._ _

__“Relax, Sandy, it’s gonna be _fine._ I’ve never let you down before, have I? Literally, just being around you is making me tense. Chill out for a bit, would you?”_ _

__“I can’t stop thinking,” Pete muttered. “If we take this too fast, it could ruin everything, but we have to get there as soon as we can--”_ _

__“Sandman,” Killer said seriously. “ _Chill._ I’ve got this. We’ve got this.”_ _

__Tyler gave him a reassuring pat. “You should listen to Killer King. If you try to do too much, or think too much, you’ll just wear yourself out, and that won’t do Benzedrine any good.”_ _

__Pete smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He just looked tired. “You’re supposed to be Bob’s little cheerleader, not mine.”_ _

__Tyler rolled his eyes. “I’m not a cheerleader, I’m just trying to be _nice _.”___ _

____“That, and he doesn’t know where Bob is,” Gabe chimed in._ _ _ _

The radio buzzed, and Dr. D’s voice came through once more. _”Show Pony won’t get off my ass,”_ he grumbled. _”I’ve never seen sign language look so damn aggressive--poke me one more time, kid, I swear, I’m telling him--they said you’re a dick, Poison, and also that they want to help with this rescue mission. As if both those things weren’t obvious.”_

____“Tell them if they want to insult me, they should say it to my face,” Poison replied._ _ _ _

_”They just flipped you off. But anyway, I had to hang up on Reckless before he gabbed my ear off. He thinks I’m tryin’ to prank him or something, but he can’t kid me, I know he still got excited at the idea of you being alive. I think he’s out in Zone 4, he should be here in a while. Wanna hang around until he comes?”_

____“Yeah, I’ve got more for you to do,” Killer said cheerfully. “Is Indecent Exposure still dealing zaps? If he is, tell him I want in. I should be swinging by the zones in a few weeks, it’s been a long ass time since I’ve made the trip out…”_ _ _ _

____Poison listened carefully as Killer discussed the finer details of trade with Dr. D. He understood most of it; after all, he used to rely on the zone markets for food, weapons, and anything else he needed. But the parts about supply and demand and going rate, those he couldn’t quite follow. He and Pete made eye contact over the table and shrugged. Gabe bonked his head on the table._ _ _ _

____“Can you pick us up some good booze when you head out?” he mumbled, not lifting his face from the metal. “Cactus juice. Or acid rain. Anything better than this city shit. You should--”_ _ _ _

____Killer stopped talking to Dr. D just long enough to roll his eyes. “I was thinking it would be a better idea to, oh, I dunno, _tell your crew you’re alive_ , but I can get alcohol, too.”_ _ _ _

____“You didn’t let me finish!” Gabe protested. “I was going to suggest you take _their_ alcohol. Two birds with one stone.”_ _ _ _

____Killer considered this. “Y’know, that’s a pretty good idea.”_ _ _ _

____“God,” Pete muttered. “Whose idea was it to put you two in the same room?”_ _ _ _

____“I think it might have been yours, actually,” Poison said with a smile._ _ _ _

____Pete sighed, but it wasn’t as playful as usual. He just looked up at the ceiling, as if the roof above could distract from the dejection so clear on his face._ _ _ _

____Tyler patted his arm again._ _ _ _

____***_ _ _ _

____Killer hitched his pack higher on his shoulders. “You know I’d take you with me if I could,” he said apologetically. “You and Sandman both.”_ _ _ _

____Poison shook his head. “You probably couldn’t get him out of the city if you tried. He’s too worried about Benzedrine… I get it, man, it’s no big deal. I’ve gotta stay and watch out for him. And Ghoul, obviously. You just get your business done, okay?”_ _ _ _

____“I will,” Killer promised. “I’m not gonna spend any more time than I need to. I’ll just talk to D, grab some tradeables, then maybe drop in on a couple of crews. Maybe. If they look like they’re gonna take too much persuasion, I won’t bother.” He paused. “I wouldn’t even be leaving if I didn’t need to, y’know? It’s just… I’m a tumbleweed, I can’t stay in one place forever. I’ve got contacts in the desert that need me. You guys need me more, though, so I’ll be sure to come back quick. There’s a shit ton of stuff I need to get done. Like, for one thing, the security on this base fucking sucks, I’ve been telling Crybaby for years. If I--”_ _ _ _

____“Killer,” Poison interrupted. “Get going.”_ _ _ _

____Killer grinned, scratching at the back of his head. “Right. Uh… I’ll radio in as soon as I meet up with Dr. D. Until then, don’t burn the place down, okay? And watch out for Sandman. And don’t let Crybaby get to you. And--”_ _ _ _

____“If you don’t leave now, I’m kicking you out the door.”_ _ _ _

____“You couldn’t. Brobeck likes me too much,” Killer said happily. “See you around, Poison.”_ _ _ _

____“See you,” Poison echoed. He watched as Killer gave a salute and stepped through the door to the waiting room, the contents of his pack clanking as he sauntered away._ _ _ _

____The door hissed shut._ _ _ _

____The base felt odd in Killer’s absence. Ever since he located Benzedrine, he had become a constant presence. He would sweep up and down the halls, always looking for one person or another with a pair of headphones sitting lopsidedly on his head; for music or transmissions, Poison couldn’t be sure. He would mutter to himself as he passed, fragments of half-formed plans and to-do lists tumbling from his lips as he gathered their resources together._ _ _ _

____When he was in the Third Eye, Poison hadn’t gotten much exposure to Killer’s planning process. He’d only seen Pete’s end of the operation, most of which was just carrying out plans Killer had made. He hadn’t seen the time and effort that went into every manipulated camera, the painstaking attention to detail that Killer’s type of work required._ _ _ _

____Seeing him in action was kind of awe-inspiring._ _ _ _

____A visit to the desert was a necessary part of the plan. Speaking through Dr. D was one thing, but if the killjoys were going to get involved, some of them might need a direct source of information. Killer’s job was to convince them to join up. While he was gone, he would pick up supplies that could be traded for extra cash, or possibly to bribe juviehalls into compliance. Poison didn’t like the idea of joining up with anyone who required payment, but when he had brought it up, Killer had merely shrugged. Juviehalls functioned differently than killjoys, he said. Just because they were paid didn’t mean they wouldn’t be loyal._ _ _ _

____In the end, the logistics didn’t really matter to Poison. After seeing how seriously Killer was taking this, he couldn’t do anything but trust the tumbleweed to work things out._ _ _ _

____“He’s gone, isn’t he?” asked a voice. Poison jumped._ _ _ _

____Pete placed his fingers lightly against the door. “I was wondering how long he’d monologue to you before he headed out. It took about half an hour for him to tell me goodbye.”_ _ _ _

____“He just wants to make sure everything will run smoothly without him here,” said Poison._ _ _ _

____Pete nodded. “I’d be mad at him for acting like I can’t handle this, but…”_ _ _ _

____“You can’t,” Poison said simply. “Not on your own, at least. But that’s why the rest of us are here.”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah.” Pete let his hand drop back to his side. “And he gave me plenty of chores to keep me busy. Remember when he told you to take your pills and you got super pissy about it?”_ _ _ _

____Poison winced. “Definitely.”_ _ _ _

____“Well, you were right to complain about one thing,” Pete said, laughing quietly. “Killer can be fuckin’ bossy sometimes.” He paused. "I didn't know what it was like. This waiting. I kept telling you to calm down when you were wanting to go after Ghoul, but I guess I'm just a huge hypocrite now."_ _ _ _

____Poison shrugged. “It's a pardonable sin. You were just telling me what I needed to hear, man. I'm doing the same for you, 'cause I know you can get through this. Wanna take a break before we start in on those chores? We could go to your room.”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah. Let’s make it your room, though, ‘cause I know you’re just gonna ask to bring Ghoul if we go to mine.”_ _ _ _

____“You know me too well,” said Poison._ _ _ _

____Pete almost smiled. “Someone doesn’t need to _know_ you to see you’re clingy.”_ _ _ _

____Poison huffed. “Don’t kid yourself, you’ll be no better when Benzedrine gets here.” A moment after the words left his mouth, he froze. Was that too soon?_ _ _ _

____Pete didn’t seem to think so. “That’s true,” he said, shrugging. For a moment, he smiled softly as he stared into the distance, lost in thought._ _ _ _

____Then he blinked and kept walking. Poison followed after a beat, laughing to himself._ _ _ _

____“What’s so funny?” Pete asked, looking at Poison out of the corner of his eye._ _ _ _

____“Nothing,” said Poison, grinning. “It’s just… We’re both total suckers, man.”_ _ _ _

____They came to Poison’s door, and he gave it a kick before inserting his ID card. When the door slid open, Ghoul was sitting on his bunk, waiting for them._ _ _ _

____“What’s up?” he asked._ _ _ _

____“Me and Pete are gonna chill for a while,” said Poison. “Wanna join us?”_ _ _ _

____Ghoul scooted to the edge of his bunk. “Depends, what are you doing?”_ _ _ _

____“No idea. We’re gonna make it up as we go.”_ _ _ _

____“Of course you are,” Ghoul sighed. “It’s always about improv with you, huh? You’ll probably end up wandering around the halls with nothing to do.” Poison’s heart began to sink, but then Ghoul looked up at him, smiling tentatively. “Yeah. I’ll tag along.”_ _ _ _

____Poison beamed._ _ _ _

____Ghoul rolled his eyes as he stood up. “Quit smiling, asshole. You look like I’ve just made your day.”_ _ _ _

____If Poison was a little more sappy and a little less controlled, he would’ve said, “you did.”_ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took a bit longer/is a bit shorter than usual, sorry about that! i'm quite literally making this up as i go, so sometimes i have new ideas and then i have to go back and take out a few thousand words ^^; 
> 
> also when the fuck did this fic get so long what the fuck
> 
> oh and! show pony is nonbinary and mute as hell good day
> 
> (also pls comment i will owe u my life)


	8. You Can Use My Friends, but That Depends on What They're For

Gabe hung on the doorway and leaned into the room. “What's up, sluts?” he said cheerfully. “As always, I'm here bringing good news. Killer King's back!”

“Really? It’s only been a couple days,” said Pete, surprised. He set aside the stack of papers he had been reading through. “Does he want us to come meet with him?”

“Brobeck told me to run and get you, so I’ll take that as a yes.”

Poison exchanged an excited look with Pete, and they leapt up in unison, racing each other out the door. Gabe huffed as they pushed him out of the way, but caught up to them and was dashing along beside them before they knew it.

They skidded into the meeting room, Pete nearly knocking over Poison with how quickly he halted. 

“Hey, guys,” Killer said cheerfully. “What’s up?” Standing beside him were three men, one of whom looked just as excited as Pete and Poison. 

“Party Poison!” he shouted, grinning from ear to ear. “And Sandman!” 

“Reckless Abandon,” Pete said, smiling back. “It’s been a while.”

Reckless enveloped them both in a bone-crushing hug, not letting go until Pete squeaked for mercy.

He hadn’t changed much since the last time Poison had seen him. His hair was spiked up in the front, and he was wearing a Mad Gear t-shirt. If it weren’t for the faint lines on his face, he would’ve looked exactly how he had five years ago. It was with a pang that Poison noticed the absence of their former crew member, Dumpweed, but the new one, the one Dr. D had mentioned, he didn’t look so bad. He seemed to fit in well. 

“I have someone I want you guys to meet,” Reckless said as he pulled back. “This is Teenage Satellite.” He indicated the man Poison didn’t recognize. “He’s the newest member of Blink.”

Poison had always looked up to Reckless Abandon and his crew. Blink was one badass group, no matter how you looked at it. There was Reckless, the man with the spirit of a motorbaby; Roller Coaster, one of the most heavily inked ‘joys in the desert; and Dumpweed, who practically invented the trend of whiny singing. Poison wondered what the new guy brought to the group. 

“We heard about you from Dr. D,” said Pete, reaching out to shake Satellite’s hand. “How are you liking the crew? Keeping Reckless from doing stupid shit, I hope?”

“As if anyone could stop me,” Reckless said brightly. “Nah, to be in this crew, you gotta be just as crazy as me and Coaster. Ain’t that right, Coaster?”

Roller Coaster nodded. “‘S rule number one.”

“Good,” said Poison. “We need crazy.”

“Yeah! Killer was filling us in on the plan. So we’re busting into this Linda Vista place, huh?” Satellite asked eagerly.

“With your help, yes,” said Poison. 

“I haven’t seen little Benzedrine in ages,” Reckless said wistfully. “I remember when Panic and the Suitehearts were just tiny little Blink wannabes--”

“Okay, first of all, we weren’t wannabes,” Killer inerjected. “And second of all, we weren’t tiny.”

“Benzedrine is five foot five,” Reckless pointed out. 

“I wasn’t saying the _Suitehearts_ aren’t tiny! That’s undeniable. Panic made out okay in the height department, though.”

“For once in my life, can I prevent this from devolving into height jokes?” Pete mumbled.

“Nope,” said Roller Coaster. “Sorry, man, but you’re screwed.”

Reckless giggled. “You know who--” 

He cut himself off abruptly, wincing a little. He gave Poison a sympathetic look, and Poison didn’t have to a be a genius to know what--who--he was thinking of. 

“Killer explained, then?” Poison asked. 

Reckless nodded. “I’m so sorry, dude. That situation sucks major dick. I hope he gets better soon.” He reached out and touched Poison’s shoulder. For a moment, they stayed like that, connected at a single point, then Reckless let his hand drop. 

The gesture made Poison’s chest tighten. It had been years since anyone had extended it to him. It was a desert tradition: when a crew member was lost, killjoys would have that brief moment of contact to show that they were connected, and a frown to show they shared their grief. Then they would break apart, and the moment would be over. If you let your despair consume you, you’d be ghosted in an instant. It was better to take a moment of mourning and move on. Poison had always been shit at the _moving on_ part, but it felt nice to share his burden, if only momentarily. 

While Fun Ghoul wasn’t dead, he wasn’t all there, either. Poison wasn’t sure how it made him feel, other than the fact that it hurt like hell, but somehow, Reckless had known exactly what to do. A single touch, a memory of home, and Poison felt himself relax.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. 

“No problem.” Reckless turned to Pete, frowning. “And you, too! Damn, why is BLi so determined to make everyone’s lives hell?” He touched Pete’s shoulder, and Pete smiled briefly. 

“You’re a good guy, Reckless.”

“No I’m not,” Reckless said, but he looked pleased with himself. 

“So,” Killer said, bringing them back to reality. “Disaster. I told your crew you’re doing well; they were psyched to hear it, obviously. I told ‘em you say hi. And, as promised…” He lifted a bottle from the table, grinning. “A gift from Cobra Starship.”

Gabe’s eyes widened with delight, and he grabbed the bottle and popped it open. “Oh, how I love my crew!” He took a swig, shaking his head hard. “Fuck! That’s good stuff.”

Poison held out his hand. “Give it here.” Gabe took an obnoxiously long drink before passing the bottle to him.

“You probably should have waited until this meeting was over to give him that,” Pete said to Killer.

Killer grinned. “This is as good a time as any.” He snatched the bottle from Poison. “We can get to the dirty work later. Now, I’m taking a break.” He raised it to his lips, then, looking thoughtful, handed it to Pete. “You know, you probably need this more than I do.”

Pete took it gratefully.

***

“As you all can see, this is not the meeting room,” Killer announced. “Anybody wanna guess why we’re here?”

Poison looked around the room. In the center was a large rectangular mat, and hanging near the walls were a pair of punching bags. “We’re fighting,” he guessed.

Killer pointed at him. “Bingo. The thing is, we’ve got lots of juvies on our side, and they know how this city works. But we’re starting to get more ‘joys, and they’re not as familiar with the way juviehalls fight. Are you gettin’ me?”

“Kind of,” Tyler said hesitantly. “Are you saying you’re going to teach us to fight like city-borns?”

“I’m not gonna be the one teaching you, but that’s the general idea,” Killer said with a nod. “And it works both ways. The street rats could stand to take a few tips from you, too.”

Reckless prodded at the mat with his toe. “I’m always down with learning new ways to look badass,” he said. 

“If you’re not teaching us, who is?” Gabe asked. 

“I am,” a voice said from behind Poison. He turned around to see Electra Heart wrapping tape around her knuckles and grinning at him. “Hello!”

“Electra is one of Crybaby’s best fighters,” Killer explained. “That’s why she gets to go topside so often. Selfish Machine might be joining you guys, too, if his schedule’s free.”

“We can make do without him,” said Electra. “I don’t think I’ll have any trouble flooring you all.”

“Is that a challenge?” asked Poison, raising his eyebrows. 

She stepped around him and stood in the center of the mat, crooking one finger and beckoning him forward. “It’s on, desert boy.”

Poison made to step closer, but she interrupted him. “Ah-ah-ah! Gear on first.” She pointed to the side of the room, where several sets of boxing gloves and guards were neatly stacked. “We don’t want you getting any more bruised up than you have to.”

Poison sighed, but consented to go over and slip on a pair of gloves. “You know this isn’t the first time I’ve ever sparred, right?”

“Oh, I know. But it ain’t my first time at the rodeo, either.” She waited for Poison to come back onto the mat, frowning slightly. “No guards? I’d think twice about that.” When Poison made no move toward the available gear, she shrugged. “Your loss.” 

They met at the center of the mat. 

Poison had barely raised his hands before she had thrown her leg out and swept his feet out from under him. He stumbled, but managed to catch himself before falling. 

“Stop laughing, Gabe,” he said without looking up. 

“Me?” Gabe said innocently. “I didn’t say a thing.”

Poison rolled his eyes, and in his brief moment of distraction, Electra’s fist whipped out to collide with his cheekbone. 

“First lesson in street fighting,” she said pointedly. “Never take your eyes off your target.”

“I know that, I’m not stupid. But this is just practice!” Poison protested.

“There’s no such thing as practice.” Electra backed up and began to circle around him, her fists held at chin level. “City rats don’t fight the way you desert dogs do. There’s no mutual respect, no common enemies. This place is built on Smog, Deceit, and Shadows; don’t you ever forget it.” She lunged forward, and Poison managed to parry her blows before she darted back again, nodding. “Better!” 

She continued to move back and forth across the mat, always staying light and quick on her feet. “In the future, I won’t ever talk to you while we do this. It’s not realistic. Juvies won’t bother intimidating you with big talk, they’d rather get to the point and knock you out. But for now, I’ll go easy on you, since you’re just learning.”

“I’m not _completely_ inexperienced,” said Poison, frustrated. He aimed a punch at Electra, but she blocked it easily, countering with a right hook he was just barely able to dodge. 

“Good,” she said, grinning. “Let’s see you start acting like it!”

If Poison had been a slightly worse fighter, he wouldn’t have stood a chance against her. Electra was fast, and he quickly learned that the juviehall fighting style was composed almost entirely of foul play. Killjoy fighting was all about power, but city brawls were a game of strategy. 

“Now, if you leave your guard open like _that_ ,” Electra said, her hand snaking out to tap the side of Poison’s head, “Somebody’s gonna box you ‘round the ears and leave you dizzy as a goose. And watch your neck, too. Most people aren’t above a good throat punch.” She tapped Poison’s neck to demonstrate.

“How do you keep doing that?” Poison asked. At this point, he was more impressed than angry at the way she kept pointing out each of his weaknesses.

“Keep doing what?” she asked, aiming a light punch to his stomach. 

“Tripping me up,” he said. “How do you always know where I’m going to hit you? And where to hit me?”

“It’s all in the eyes, my friend. Here’s a tip: never make eye contact. Look at the other person’s chest. That way, you can see their hands _and_ feet, so you’ll be able to tell if they’re getting any ideas about kicking you in the head.” Poison lowered his gaze, and sure enough, he could see Electra shift her weight before aiming a kick to his side. He knocked it away.

“Always try to lead with your left side,” she continued, her movements never ceasing. “You can lead with a quick strike, then bring the power from your right.”

“I know this part,” Poison huffed. “Like I said, I’m not stupid.”

“Like _I_ said, actions speak louder than words!”

Poison feinted towards her head, then twisted his body into a punch to the gut. She swept it away, doing something tricky with her hands that left him befuddled just long enough for her to tap him in the head. “Good, but not quick enough!”

“Just beat him up!” Killer called from the sidelines. “C’mon, we’re all waiting for some action!”

“Don’t be so cocky,” Electra called back. “You’ll be next!”

Killer waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve fought you before, I’ll be fine.”

She shrugged and returned her attention to Poison, but it was too late. He jammed his forearm into her neck, grabbing onto the back of her shirt so he could force her head down and knee her in the stomach. She made a small, pained noise, and went limp in his arms.

Poison didn’t move.

Electra was still for another moment before she began to laugh.

Poison let her go, and she straightened up, dusting herself off and looking at him with approval. “Glad you didn’t fall for that one. You know, the first time I sparred with Killer here, _he_ believed it. Thought he had really hurt me.”

“And you punched me out the second I let you go,” Killer sighed. 

“That I did. But you were a good sport, eh? You learned from it. Never trusted me again.”

“And with good reason,” said Killer.

Poison wiped a hand across his forehead. He was panting slightly, and he could feel sweat dripping down the back of his neck. Electra, however, looked lively as could be. She adjusted the tape on her knuckles and looked over to the group of killjoys. “Who wants to go next?”

Nobody raised their hand.

Poison went and ripped his gloves off, tossing them back onto the pile they had come from. When he came back, he plopped down onto the ground beside Tyler. He could feel the bruises beginning to form beneath his skin, but they were hard-earned, and he found he didn’t mind them so much. Not when they represented such valuable lessons. 

“So, you just got your ass handed to you,” Killer remarked. “Welcome to the club.”

“I didn’t realize juvies were so… I dunno. Adept,” said Poison.

Killer grinned. “Most of ‘em aren’t. They’re dirty little cheaters, sure, but Electra always makes it harder than any real-life scenario would be. She just wants to prepare you.”

“Disaster Boy!” Electra called. “You’re up next.”

Gabe’s face went white, and Poison sniggered as he went over to retrieve a pair of gloves, as well as the guards Poison had been too cocky to strap on. 

“Good luck!” said Tyler. 

“Luck?” Gabe scoffed. “Who needs luck?” His words were all confidence, but his walk was just a bit more tense than usual, lacking that swagger he usually carried himself with. “I’ve got skill on my side.”

He went to retrieve the bottle of desert liquor he’d been carrying around and took a swig before going out to meet Electra. 

“You also have intoxication on your side, apparently,” Pete mumbled. 

“Liquid courage,” Gabe said lightly. “I’d prefer to be a little numb by the time I’m getting my lights punched out.”

Electra plucked the bottle from his hands and passed it to Pete. “No drinking in the training room. When you’re finished, you can have as much as you want, but until then, you need your focus.”

“Well,” Gabe grumbled. “Shit.”

***

“What the hell are you doing?” Ghoul asked.

Poison sighed, lowering his tape measure. “Killer’s insisting we up the security around here. He wants to put new scanners in. Apparently, no one else was around to do the grunt work.”

“He can’t let _you_ install security systems,” said Ghoul, looking horrified. “We’ll be dead within the hour!”

Poison stopped short, giving him an odd look. He was long since used to Ghoul making such comments, but the odd thing was, his words lacked their usual venom. He was _joking._ Poison felt a smile spread across his face. 

“I’m not the one installing them, I’m just taking out the old ones to make room for the new.”

“Oh. That’s a little better, I guess.” Ghoul still sounded mildly suspicious. “Why do I feel like you’ll manage to fuck it up anyway?”

“This is our room, stupid. If I were to mess up anybody’s defenses, it wouldn’t be my own. Maybe Gabe’s, or Killer’s, but I dunno where the hell Killer sleeps. He probably doesn’t. Just wanders the halls all night.”

“Like a vampire,” said Ghoul. 

Poison nodded. “Exactly like a vampire. See, now you’re getting a bit more accurate, Franki-- Frank.” It was an obvious slip, but when he corrected himself, he thought Ghoul’s smile widened a bit.

Difficult though it was, Poison had stuck to his word. For whatever reason, Ghoul didn’t want to be reminded of his past, and Poison would just have to respect that. He knew something would tip the scales eventually. Ghoul was going to remember, whether or not it was Poison who reminded him, and if Poison’s choices were to wait or to make Ghoul hate him, he could keep his mouth shut a little longer. 

“So, what exactly are you trying to do?” Ghoul asked, eyeing the tape measure in Poison’s hands. 

“I need to find out how much available space there is, and, uh…” Poison squinted at the notes he had scribbled on his hand. “I dunno. Find out something about the wires. Fuck, I can’t read my own handwriting.”

“Let me see.” Ghoul grabbed onto his wrist. Poison really hoped Ghoul couldn’t feel his pulse pick up as he turned his head to look, squinting at the ink that stained Poison’s skin. “Shit, I dunno either.”

It took Poison a moment to realize that he had gone silent, and he should probably say something before it became uncomfortable. 

It took him another moment to realize that Ghoul was still holding onto his wrist.

Just as Poison noticed, Ghoul dropped it, looking away. “So, uh. D’you think we should ask Killer about what we need to do? Seeing as you’re totally incompetent at following instructions? Or writing them down, I guess…” His voice trailed off. 

Poison cleared his throat a little too loudly. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good.” 

He turned around and began walking down the hall. After a pause, he heard Ghoul follow. He didn’t look back.

If he did, he wasn’t sure what he would see.

***

 _”Are you sure you don’t need more backup?”_ Dr. D asked worriedly. _”I’d be out there in a hot minute if you asked.”_

“I know, D,” Poison said patiently. “But you’ve got your listeners to consider. Plus, Linda Vista isn’t a place for a set of wheels like yours.”

_”The wheels ain’t a problem, kid. As long as my trigger finger still works, I’m shiny.”_

“You know it’s more complicated than that,” Poison chastised him.

 _”I do, I do. But this whole operation’s got me nervous. This Linda Vista sounds like a veritable hell on earth, I don’t want you going in without ‘joys at your back,”_ said Dr. D.

“Juvies, ‘joys, what does it matter?” Killer asked. “We’ll have enough backup. Blink are with us now, remember? By the time our plans are finished, we’ll be totally ready.”

Dr. D was silent for a minute. _”I still don’t like it. You ever get a bad feeling, Killer? Like there’s something you’re missing? A second shadow that’s following your every move?”_

“Yeah. But there’s a difference between reasonable worry and paranoia,” Killer said reassuringly. “I’m taking care of everything. We’re gonna have weapons, troops, and stealth to boot. BLi will never see us coming.”

 _”Careful,”_ said Dr. D. _”You’ll jinx it. They have eyes everywhere.”_

Killer sighed. “I don’t believe in jinxi--”

“Maybe he’s right,” Bob blurted out.

Killer looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

Bob coughed. “Well… This is gonna be a really big deal. Maybe we shouldn’t rush into it. Maybe we should get more people. Or more weapons. Or more everything! Go big or go home, right?”

Killer sighed. “And I thought Sandman was gonna be the most anxious one.”

“I’m not disagreeing with him,” Pete murmured. “I kind of think he’s right. I want to get in there as soon as possible, obviously, but we can’t allow anything to go wrong. Not like it did in the Third Eye.”

Killer nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense. We don’t want to have to leave anyone behind.” Pete winced a little, but Killer’s tone didn’t indicate that he was looking for a fight. “I don’t want to leave the city again, but I could send out a tumbleweed to grab more killjoys.”

 _”I told American Idiot,”_ said Dr. D. _”He wants in. And plenty of others do, too.”_

Killer nodded thoughtfully. “Okay then. I’ll have Reggie swing by to get them, can you have them waiting in Zone 1?”

_”Sure.”_

“Then it’s settled. We’ll gather more forces and more weapons before we do anything. That gives us time to double-check our control of the cam system, anyway.” Killer scribbled something down on his notepad, then sat back, looking satisfied.

Bob still looked nervous.

***

Poison missed desert nights.

He missed the kiss of the air on his skin; a light warmth, as opposed to the sweltering heat of the day. Some nights, you could even call it cool. He missed seeing the sand bathed in the weak light of far-off satellites. He missed the quiet that fell over the zones, the sort of peace that could hardly ever be found during the day. There were no voices, no explosions, no music. Just the whisper of the wind and the beating of his own heart.

The world always felt far away at night. It was like life had come to a pause, like nothing counted as real; whatever happened then would stay there, frozen in the moments between mornings. There was more than one reason Poison avoided going to sleep. There were the nightmares, of course; both his and the others’. He’d rather stay awake and be there to wake his family up when they needed it than face the dreams himself. But there was also something enchanting about the night, something he thought deserved to be seen.

He would sit on the roof of the diner, staring out into the sand wastes, letting thoughts slip by, unnoticed. It was a time of feeling, not thinking. He would breathe in time with the desert, letting the calm aura wash over him. It was nice. Sometimes, Jet would join him after a particularly bad night terror. He liked to be reminded of his place in the world. He and Poison would sit together in silence, wondering alike where all the stars had gone.

With Ghoul, it was different. He needed the comfort of a person, not a place. Poison would never stay out on the roof too long. He would go back inside after a few hours, waiting to shake Ghoul from his sleep the moment the signs began to show: a twitch here, a sound there, and a nightmare was on its way. It took Ghoul a while to recover, but he turned out fine, as long as Poison was there for him. 

He tended to open up more at night. Maybe it was because of the pervasive spirit of the nighttime; life always seemed so distant, as if any secret you spilled wouldn’t really count. Or maybe it was just because of the leftover emotions running through him. He needed to let them out somehow. Whatever it was, the darkness became their safe haven, a time for openness and vulnerability.

That was one thing that had stayed constant since Ghoul was kidnapped.

“Why do you fight so hard?” he asked. Poison heard him turn over in his bunk. “You’re subjecting yourself to so much just to get back to a world of pain.”

“I can’t say anything I haven’t already said,” Poison answered honestly. “It’s just… worth it. I don’t know. You can’t really understand unless you feel it, too. That’s what it is, really-- more of a feeling than a thought, if that makes sense.”

Ghoul sighed. “Yeah. Everything’s about feeling with you killjoys.”

There was a long silence, then:

“Show me the positives.”

Poison sat up. “What?”

“A while ago, you said the positives of killjoy life outweighed the negatives,” said Ghoul. “And you said I didn’t have much experience with positivity, so I couldn’t possibly understand.” He paused. “Well… You were right. I keep trying to understand you, and it’s not working, and that’s fucking annoying, so you’re gonna have to show me.”

“You mean it?” Poison whispered. “You really want me to?”

“Yeah, sure. Can’t do any harm.”

“Okay.” A smile crept across Poison’s face. Thankfully, Ghoul couldn’t see him in the darkness, or he probably would have made some sort of comment to break the spell. 

Poison laid his head back down, already thinking of how to translate to Ghoul the incredible worth of life as a killjoy.

If he just remembered, Poison knew he would understand. If he just remembered _Poison_... 

But he didn’t. They’d have to find another way.

Poison didn’t know how to connect to the most BLi-altered parts of Ghoul’s mind, but he had a few ideas.

***

The second Killer walked into the room with a group of killjoys in tow, Reckless was on his feet, launching himself toward them. “Idiot!” he shrieked. 

“I should’ve picked a different name,” said American Idiot, his voice muffled by Reckless’s embrace. 

Poison watched with amusement as Reckless made his way through the group, exclaiming with delight at each familiar face. Poison recognized most of them, but wasn’t quite so enthusiastic when it came to greeting; he opted for a polite nod and smile instead of a full-on hug.

Reckless patted Basket Case’s head and turned to Killer. “You didn’t say they were coming _today_!” he said accusatorily. 

Killer shrugged. “I didn’t know any better than you. Reggie didn’t give me a timeframe.”

“Tumbleweeds,” Reckless grumbled. “So unreliable.” 

“Unreliable?” said Killer, affronted. “I’m the one organizing all this!”

“Well, you don’t seem very organized!” Reckless fired back, but his attempt at seriousness was ruined by a giggle. “Sorry. I take it back. You’re very organized, Killer. The most organized guy I know.”

Killer rolled his eyes. “Speaking of which, I actually did have a reason to call you all here other than introductions.” He motioned for the killjoys to take a seat. Poison scooted closer to Gabe, leaving room for Mr. Brightside to pull up a chair between them. “We need to decide on our priorities within Linda Vista,” Killer said. “Do we want this to be purely a rescue mission for Benzedrine, or should it be more?” His question hung on the air, taking a moment to sink in. 

Pete sat up. “What do you mean, ‘more’?”

“It’s a rare opportunity to be inside one of BLi’s hospitals,” Killer explained. “We could try to gather information… But it would add a lot of time onto the mission.”

“So, what you’re saying is, it’d be risky,” said Pete. 

Killer nodded. “Yeah. Super risky.”

“Isn’t that how it always is?” Tyler wondered out loud. 

“Yeah, but this… This could be enough to compromise us,” said Killer. “People could die. Like, _lots_ of people. We have to decide if gathering intel is worth that cost.”

“It isn’t,” Reckless said quietly. “ If what you say about Linda Vista is true, we don’t want to spend any extra time in there. Even if we could gather information, we don’t know how useful it would be. We’ve gotten along fine so far without stealing BLi’s plans.”

“But doing so could be a game-changer,” Mr. Brightside pointed out. 

Reckless opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by American Idiot. “Benzedrine isn’t the only killjoy in there, is he?” he asked, tapping his fingers on the table. “Who cares about gathering info? If we want to focus on anything, it should be getting people out.”

“Would we have enough time for that?” Pete asked nervously. “There could be tons of ‘joys in there. We’ve got no idea how long it would take to save them all.”

“Does it matter? Like Killer said, an opportunity to break in there doesn’t come by often. We should use it to the fullest,” Idiot argued. 

And just like that, everyone was speaking at once, fighting for their voice to be heard above the rest. Poison found himself agreeing with American Idiot. Saving the killjoys should be the top priority. But at the same time, he could see where Pete was coming from, and he would hate to jeopardize something as important as Benzedrine’s rescue. It was so important to Pete, and Killer had spent so much time planning… If they were captured, all their efforts would be for nothing. 

Yeah, Poison really wasn’t sure where he stood. 

“Quiet!” Killer shouted. “Please, just shut your mouths for one second!” The clamor slowly died out. “This is obviously too big an issue to be decided instantaneously. It’s gonna take a lot of thought and conversation, and that’s not gonna work if you’re all yelling over each other. There are other matters to discuss, too, like who’s going to be leading the teams.”

Poison looked up at him, surprised. “I kind of assumed you would be.”

Killer shook his head. “I’ll be leading the backup team. If things go Costa Rica in there, you’re gonna need someone at your back who knows his shit. Crybaby will be a leader, obviously, but everything beyond that is undetermined.”

Poison considered this. “How many juvies do we have on our side?”

“A lot. Americana’s going to come along, she’ll probably bring a group of around ten. Crybaby can spare about that many to go with you, and then the same for backup… I might be able to convince some freelancers to help, too. And then we have these guys,” said Killer, gesturing to the killjoys gathered at the table. “Poison, Sandman, Disaster, Blurryface, and Bob. That’s five. Plus…” He quickly counted heads. “Seven other ‘joys. That makes twelve. Adding on anybody I convince in the future, we might have a total of around thirty. We can split up into groups, taking on the building from different directions...” His voice trailed off, and he sat down, sketching something out on a sheet of paper. “Poison. How many people do you think we should put on each team?”

“I dunno, but you’ll have to make ‘em big. If they’re too small, BLi will start picking them off one by one. Each team needs to have enough people to hold their own in a firefight,” Poison answered.

“Good. We could manage three groups,” Killer murmured, turning his paper around and scribbling something down. “Taking on the front, right, and left…”

He lost himself in his work, speaking only to himself for the next few minutes. Poison watched over his shoulder as the plan took shape. 

Half an hour later, he stopped writing. 

“I think I’ve got something,” he said. “I don’t know how good it is, but…” He set his pen down. “It’s something.”

***

“Are you sure about this?” Pete said under his breath.

“Yeah,” said Poison. “He said he wanted to, and that’s a big step for him, so… I think he’s ready.”

“Remember what happened to Tyler, though…”

“I’m not forgetting,” Poison said, a little sharply. “Do you really think I’d rush something like this?”

“You guys,” said Ghoul. “I am literally right behind you. Like, _right here._ ”

“Sorry,” Pete said sheepishly. 

“Where are we even going?” said Ghoul, peering around them and down the street. “You’ve never let me out of the base before.”

“We’re going to a really cool place,” Poison said cheerfully. He almost added, _I think you’ll like it,_ but really, he couldn’t be sure. This was a gamble, and he knew it. 

“Should be right around here,” Pete murmured, and a few blocks later, they turned into a familiar alley. 

At the sight of them, Trophy Son swept his bangs out of his eyes, which were wide with shock. “You brought the other one?” He was staring right at Ghoul, who stiffened. 

“Chill out,” Pete said soothingly. Poison wasn’t sure if he was addressing Trophy Son or Ghoul. 

“How’s that kid?” Trophy Son asked. “The one from last time?”

“Blurryface? Oh, he’s fine,” said Pete, waving a hand. “He got his memories back no problem.” He passed over a handful of carbons, nodding his head to the instruments. “Can we?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“What is this place?” Ghoul murmured. His eyes were trained on one of the guitars, his expression unreadable. 

“This,” Poison said cautiously, “Is one of the positives.” He lifted one of the guitars and offered it to Ghoul. 

“Music,” Ghoul said.

Poison nodded. “Is that okay?”

Ghoul considered the guitar in his hands. “I guess so.”

Poison smiled. Killjoys; one, BLi; zero. “I suck at playing. You wanna try?”

Ghoul’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked ready to turn and run.

But then he took the guitar from Poison, his eyes running over the curves and strings, taking it in with a note of wariness. “What do I have to do?”

Poison sat down on one of the amps and patted the space next to him. “C’mere, I’ll show you.”

Ghoul reluctantly sat down. There wasn’t much space for him; if he was just a bit bigger, he wouldn’t have fit. As it was, his side was pressed up against Poison’s. Poison tried not to think about it as he positioned the guitar in Ghoul’s hands. 

“What’s so good about this?” Ghoul muttered, but it was halfhearted at best. The suspicion written across his face had quickly turned to wonder. His fingers instantly found the correct positions, and soon enough, he didn’t even need Poison’s guidance. 

“Why do I know--” he started, then thought better of it. 

Instead, he played a careful chord, visibly shivering as the sound hummed through the air.

“Wanna see something I wrote?” Poison said, ready to step in the moment Ghoul began to look uncomfortable. 

“Yeah, just give me a second.” Ghoul picked out another few notes, an odd expression crossing his face. Poison recognized the melody in an instant. It was one of their songs, probably Ghoul’s favorite to play live. 

“Okay, yeah,” Ghoul said abruptly. “Show me.” He passed over the guitar, but didn’t shift away from Poison.

Since Ghoul had been confined to the base until that very day, Poison hadn’t had a lot to do when he was keeping an eye on him. He’d spent a lot of his time writing music. Somewhere along the line, he acquired a notebook, the pages of which were now filled with scribbled lyrics and crossed-out titles. He’d been planning on taking it to the Rent-A-Ment soon so he could play and write at the same time. Most of his songs were still unfinished, but they felt promising. He hoped Ghoul would feel the same.

Poison played falteringly, cursing as he fumbled chords or picked the wrong note. He’d never been as good at this as Ghoul. Ghoul didn’t seem to mind, though. When Poison began to sing, he actually smiled. Poison worked his way through one song after another, Ghoul listening intently; in the corner of his eye, he could see Pete listening in as well.

“You made all that yourself?” Ghoul asked when he stopped playing, trying and failing not to sound impressed. “That’s… wow.”

“You could write, too, if you wanted,” Poison suggested. “I think you’d be good at it.”

“Me?” Ghoul’s smile vanished, and the wary look returned. “I dunno, I’m… No. I can’t.”

“That’s okay,” said Poison, giving Ghoul’s hand a squeeze. He didn’t yank it away, and Poison did a mental victory dance. This was progress. “If I’m moving too fast, just tell me.”

“No, you’re not, it’s fine. I’m the one who asked. I do want to understand, I just… I don’t know.” Ghoul paused. “Can I see the guitar again?”

Poison grinned. “Absolutely.” He handed it to Ghoul. 

Ghoul’s fingers positioned automatically across the frets, and Poison could _feel_ how he relaxed. No matter what BLi had done to him, he must have missed this, even if he didn’t realize it. He was born to play. He wasn’t quite ready to leap up and headbang until he fell over, but Poison could tell he was getting into it. His speed picked up just enough to be noticeable, and his eyelids fell closed.

Once again, Poison found himself able to name the song spinning its way from the guitar strings. 

He licked his lips, then cautiously began to hum along. Ghoul’s fingers slipped. For one awful moment, Poison thought he was going to stop, to yell at Poison and ask why he’d ever been brought here.

But instead, he began playing again, his eyes still closed. 

“Blow a kiss at the methane skies,” Poison murmured. “See the rust through your playground eyes…”

Was it his imagination, or did Ghoul press closer to him?

Something about this felt so fragile. It felt _important._ If Poison moved a muscle, if he stopped singing, the moment would shatter. Ghoul would close off again, surly and stubborn and too afraid to chase his memories. It would all be ruined. All that mattered was that they stayed just like this, tentatively bonded by music, with Ghoul leaning softly against Poison.

When the song ended, they didn’t move for a long time.

***

“Don’t do anything stupid while we’re gone,” said Poison.

Ghoul frowned. “Nothing I could do could possibly compare to what you’re doing.”

Poison smiled sadly. “You still don’t like it, huh?”

Ghoul shrugged. “I think you’re letting your ideals get in the way of what’s right. Those hospitals are built to help people, and you want to destroy them, so… No. I don’t like it. But…” He hesitated. “Don’t get killed.”

Poison’s smile widened. “I won’t.” On impulse, he pulled Ghoul into a hug, squeezing him tight. Ghoul stiffened, but didn’t move away. That much would have been enough for Poison, but then Ghoul relaxed, and he might have even hugged back. Poison couldn’t be sure, but he liked to entertain the thought. 

Ghoul was the first to break away. “Bye,” he said, looking a little embarrassed. 

“Bye,” Poison echoed. 

Then he turned and went over to Killer, who was running his finger along a checklist. “Are we good to go?”

“We should be,” said Killer, not taking his eyes off the paper. “I’ve triple-checked everything. Guns are charged, security is in place… We’re doing this.” He straightened up and tossed the paper aside, his face hardening. “Let’s go break into Linda Vista.”

He hadn’t been giving a speech, but people had definitely been listening in, judging by the whoop that Reckless let out. The others joined him to cheer, and a warm feeling settled over Poison. They were in this together. This was going to be a firefight like he hadn’t had in years, and by the Sand and Sun, he had missed it. 

“Line up,” Crybaby ordered. “We’re leaving!” 

The killjoys and juviehalls fell into order, with Crybaby, Poison, and Pete at the front of the line. Killer would be staying behind, as promised, to watch over the cameras with Brobeck and lead a backup team if it was necessary.

“Good luck,” he said solemnly. 

“Thank you,” said Pete. He looked directly into Killer’s eyes, and something unspoken passed between them. “Just… thanks.”

“You got it, Sandman,” said Killer. “Now get a move on.”

The door to the waiting room slid open, and Poison stepped into the tunnel outside. 

Crybaby motioned for them to follow her, and she began leading them down to the left. She had forgone her usual pink dresses for a tight black ensemble, the only decoration being a pink bow on the chest. Poison had almost fallen over when he saw her. She must have been taking this operation with deadly seriousness if she was willing to give up her usual attire. She crept through the tunnels on silent feet, leading them for what felt like half an hour before she stopped and went to the wall to pull open a hidden door. 

From there, they passed from the lower tunnels into the upper ones. Crybaby continued along a path filled with twists and turns. After another long period of walking, she stopped and took a breath.

“This is it,” she whispered. “We’ll surface about three blocks from Linda Vista. Is everyone ready?” There was a general murmur of assent, and she twisted a handle set into the wall. A passage opened to reveal a ladder, and she scaled it before Poison could even blink.

Pete went up next, then Poison. He clung to the bars with a tighter grip than was necessary. Whenever he closed his eyes, he could almost smell the knockout gas, see the white walls smeared with blood. Going back to Linda Vista wasn’t something he had ever expected to do. He was somehow less nervous than he had been going into the Crystal Ball, though. He had the knowledge that Ghoul was safe at the base, waiting for him, and that was enough to keep him going.

Pete, however, was a wreck. He trembled as he looked back and forth across the street. The killjoys and juviehalls gradually surfaced beside him, but he paid them no mind. He was searching. 

The moment he caught sight of Linda Vista, he froze. It looked like someone had clubbed him over the head. He just stared for a minute, eyes vacant, but then something shifted. A spark lit up inside him. His eyes began to fill with a fire Poison knew all too well, and he suddenly looked ready to kill. 

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Is everyone here?” Crybaby asked. She counted heads, then nodded. “Okay. Here we go.”

She took off down the street with no warning, moving in that way that only juviehalls seemed capable of: smooth and almost elegant, like a shadow melting swiftly from one point to the next. Poison followed as quickly as he could. He could see Linda Vista drawing ever closer, and it sent shivers down his spine, but he pressed on. 

Crybaby stopped in front of the building.

“Fan out,” she ordered. “Night Visions, take the left side. Beautiful Lie, you’re on the right. Poison, front and center with me, and Sandman, you hang back in the middle. We don’t want you getting shot before we can bring you to your prize.”

Pete nodded shakily. Poison stood by Crybaby’s side as the others took their positions.

“Lock and load,” she hissed.

Poison already had his ray gun out. He flicked the safety off and raised it up, eyeing Linda Vista with apprehension.

Crybaby pressed a button on her radio. “This is Crybaby, we’re all in position. Can I get a time estimate on the next patrol? Over.”

 _”Two minutes,”_ Brobeck’s voice answered. _”But look out, it’s gonna be crows. Over.”_

“Gotcha,” said Crybaby. “Everybody, just hold on! We’ll be getting some action soon.”

She turned to Poison. “As soon as the crows are down, we’re going straight in. We didn’t manage to get a map of the inside, so we’re going to have to find our way quickly. That means we might be relying on you. If you see anything that looks familiar, I want you to tell me. And there’s also the issue of the cameras. We didn’t manage to take out all of them, so, if they’re smart, BLi might be able to figure out our location.”

“We’ll just have to get out before they do,” said Poison. 

Crybaby nodded. “Exactly.” She returned her gaze to the building. 

Poison’s heart was thumping in his chest. His every muscle was poised to spring, knowing that at any moment, a group of scarecrows could round the corner and throw them into a firefight. Any moment, any second. He fought to keep his breathing steady. 

As soon as the first black boot appeared, Crybaby screamed out a warning. The air was filled with the sound of ray gun fire. Luckily, the crows hadn’t seen them coming, and dropped within seconds, but now, their cover was blown. 

“Come on!” Crybaby shouted, racing for the door. The glass shattered as she fired into it, and she leapt through, Pete shoving his way in after her. Poison was next, not even caring about the exposed edges of the glass. There was no time to care. A few juviehalls ran after them, keeping their guns raised to ward off ambush. 

Crybaby headed for the first visible door. She burst through it into a white hallway, and when Poison stepped after her, his heart almost stopped. 

_“Good morning, Gerard,” said a woman’s voice. “Please exit your room and turn right. You will find your first test at the end of the hall.”_

_He sprinted down to the left._

_A shock jolted through him, hard enough to send him crumpling to the ground._

“Poison,” Pete said sharply. “Stay with us.” 

“Right, sorry,” Poison said, shaking himself. He wished there was anywhere for him to look where he wouldn’t see _white._ It was boring into his eyes, almost causing him physical pain.

“Keep moving,” said Crybaby. She grabbed onto his arm and tugged him down the hall, running faster and faster until they were sprinting past the rows of doors. 

“Shouldn’t we check--” Pete started, but Crybaby waved him off. 

“He’s not going to be in a room like this. He’d have something special.”

“Are you sure?” Pete asked, looking over his shoulder at the many doors they had passed by.

“Yes,” she said shortly. The hallway ended at a fork, and she looked to Poison. “Any ideas?”

Poison shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. They never let me see much of the building.”

She scowled. “They do love to make things difficult.” She looked back and forth, then took off to the left on a whim. Pete eyed the other direction nervously, but followed her without complaint. 

“What did you mean when you said ‘something special?’” he asked her, panting slightly as he fought to keep up. Crybaby was _fast_ when she didn’t have skirts to trip over. 

“I meant something special,” Crybaby snapped. “Big door. Reinforced. Probably marked with a number or project name.”

Poison stopped short.

“So… something like that?”

At the end of the hallway was a large steel door, a placard sitting on the wall beside it. 

“Yes,” Crybaby breathed. “Exactly like that.”

Pete was in front of the door before Poison could even blink. He scanned over the placard, and one hand jumped to cover his mouth.

“It’s his,” he said, turning back to face Poison, his face ashen. “W-we need to get this open. _Now._ ”

“On it,” said Crybaby. She pulled out a small device from her pocket and stuck it to the door. “Stand back!”

Poison startled. “Wait, is that--”

“ _Far_ back!”

Poison took one look at the bomb and ran as fast as he could. 

“Crybaby!” Pete screeched. “What if it hurts him?”

Crybaby had just opened her mouth to respond when the door exploded, sending a jet of fire down the hall after them. Poison raced ahead of the flames. They licked at his heels, threatening to overcome him before drawing back, retreating to a small blaze at the end of the hall. 

“Was that really necessary?” Pete whimpered.

“Yes. There was no way we could’ve gotten past the security.” Crybaby peered through the dust of the destroyed hallway. “It should be open now.”

“It ‘should be,’” Pete muttered. He and Poison jumped around a few leftover flaming hunks of metal and made their way over to what had once been a door. 

Poison waved some dust away, peering inside. 

“Thank the Sand and Sun,” Pete breathed. He took off like a rocket, skidding to a halt at the bed sitting in the center of the room. “Benzedrine!” he shouted. “Benz, wake up, it’s me!”

Silence.

“Benzedrine,” Pete repeated. “It’s me. It’s Sandman, it’s _Pete._ I’m here to get you.”

Poison approached the bed, his heart sinking into his stomach.

There was a man curled up in it, seemingly asleep. There was something poetically innocent about him; the soft curves of his face, maybe, or the peaceful expression they were settled into. Poison guessed he was a few years younger than Pete. 

Pete stroked a finger across his dirty blond hair. “Patrick,” he whispered. “‘Trickster, Lunchbox, Pattycakes, come _on._ We gotta get out of here.”

“Go away,” said Benzedrine. Poison startled. His words were clearly enunciated; he hadn’t been asleep at all.

Pete knelt down beside him, confused. “What?”

“Go away,” Benzedrine said tiredly, not opening his eyes. “You can drop the act, it’s not fooling me anymore.”

Pete looked crestfallen. “What?”

Crybaby was hovering in the doorway with several other juviehalls, looking nervous. “Sandman, you need to hurry.”

Benzedrine opened one eye.

“You’re new,” he observed. He opened his other eye and sat up, looking suspiciously at Crybaby. “I haven’t seen you before. What do they want this time?”

“I don’t know what you mean, but we’ve got to go, Benz,” said Pete. “C’mon.” He stood back up, holding out his hand.

Benzedrine didn’t move to take it. “If you’re going to do another test, just tell me, please.”

And then it finally clicked.

“Oh,” Pete breathed.

“Shit,” Poison echoed.

“Benzedrine,” Pete said carefully. “You don’t have to be scared of me. This is… it’s not a hallucination or anything. I’m real.” 

Benzedrine looked unimpressed. “Oh, wow. I haven’t heard that one before.”

“Sandman!” Crybaby hissed from the doorway. “You need to _hurry_!”

Pete put his hands on Benzedrine’s shoulders, looking directly into his eyes. “Patrick, I’m so, so sorry for all this,” he whispered. “I’m not gonna let them hurt you anymore.” 

And with that, he yanked Benzedrine up. “We’re getting out of here.” 

He pulled Benzedrine toward the door, Poison close behind them. Benzedrine wasn’t resisting, but he wasn’t moving too quickly, either. He walked with a limp, and he looked resigned above all else. Poison couldn’t imagine what he thought was going on, but he clearly didn’t believe Pete was truly there to rescue him. 

“Come on, come on!” Crybaby chanted. “Hurry!” 

Pete hoisted Benzedrine up. “Come on, lean on me.” He eyed Benzedrine’s bad leg with concern, but didn’t press further. 

Crybaby made a frustrated noise. “Faster, damn it!” She darted over to Benzedrine and supported his other side. “Move, Benzie, move!”

They had just reached the doorway when the scarecrows appeared.

“Shit,” Pete said under his breath. He let go of Benzedrine just long enough to raise his ray gun. The scarecrows raised theirs in return, their black smiley masks staring right at Poison. 

Poison shot one in the face. 

Then the air was filled with volleys of ray gun fire, bursts of energy zinging back and forth across the room. Poison stepped in front of Pete and Benzedrine without thinking. He and Crybaby led the offensive, firing off one shot after another, ducking and rolling through enemy fire, slowly knocking down the scarecrows. 

“Blue Lips, go!” Crybaby shouted. “Meet up with Night Visions, we need backup!” A juviehall nodded, and, taking her cohorts with her, darted out the door and into the fray. 

For every crow that was shot down, another appeared to take its place. Poison thought he saw a few dracs in the crowd. He could barely see out into the hallway, but he could tell they were outnumbered. 

“Well, well, well,” said a pleasant voice. 

Poison’s finger clenched around the trigger, but he missed the shot. Pete and Crybaby both whipped around, firing in unison, but the voice just laughed. Poison knew that laugh.

“It’s been so long,” Doctor Addy purred.

The gunfire gradually ceased. Poison slowly turned around. 

There was a door on the other side of the room. It was painted all in white, even the handle, so it blended into the wall perfectly. _Fuck_. They should have noticed it. Why hadn’t Poison _noticed_?

“I must say, I didn’t expect to see _you_ again, Melanie,” said Doctor Addy, her eyes gleaming as she looked to Crybaby. “Why, my dear, I thought you had died! I’m so glad to see I was mistaken.” 

“I don’t know you,” said Crybaby. For the first time Poison could remember, she sounded scared.

“No, you wouldn’t. I don’t believe we ever met personally. But you _were_ one of my favorites.” She turned to Poison and smiled. “For you, Gerard… I’m afraid can’t say the same. But that’s all right. I’m sure we’ll have _lots_ of fun together.”

“We won’t have shit,” Poison growled. He raised his zap. Adrenaline was flooding through his body, his instincts jumping for him to _shoot, shoot, shoot_ , and there was only one thought in his mind. 

_Get back home to him._

He aimed straight for her chest and fired.

The shot glanced off her lab coat harmlessly. 

He blinked. _What?_

“Oh, Gerard,” Doctor Addy sighed. “You really must do better than that.” She opened her lab coat and smirked; there was a blaster-proof vest beneath it. “You seem to think me woefully underprepared.” She took a radio from her pocket and switched it on. “This will only take a moment, dear. I promise you won’t be allowed to leave with all those troublesome memories. Or leave at all, for that matter.” Her smile widened, and the radio crackled. “Excuse me, could I have a scarecrow patrol to room Y-2?”

“Oh my God,” whispered a quiet, broken voice. “You… You really…”

Poison turned to see Benzedrine, a look of anguish slowly spread across his face. He clung to Pete’s shoulder, looking at him with horror. “Y-you, oh my God, _Pete_!”

Doctor Addy laughed. “So you finally realized, did you? Isn’t it so much more _fun_ when it’s real?”

“No!” Benzedrine said, looking wildly back and forth between Pete and Doctor Addy. “Oh, shit. Shit!”

“I didn’t ever think this opportunity would arise,” Doctor Addy mused. “But, oh, am I glad it did.”

Benzedrine shoved Pete away, his hands trembling. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s not me, I promise it’s not me, I would _never_ \--”

“But isn’t it?” Doctor Addy said thoughtfully. “Their blood will be on _your_ hands, after all.”

Benzedrine snapped his head around to face her, his eyes filled with fury. “It won’t be theirs,” he hissed. 

Her smile faltered. 

Benzedrine took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and straightened up to his full height. It wouldn’t have been impressive, considering how small he was, but when he opened his eyes again, Poison did a double take.

They were a bright, solid yellow.

“Sedate him,” Doctor Addy ordered. 

A scarecrow appeared with a tranquilizer gun. Benzedrine growled and sent it reeling with a single punch. It stumbled and tried to right itself, but Benzedrine knocked it down again; another scarecrow rushed in and met the same fate. Benzedrine turned his gaze back to Doctor Addy, his lips curled back into a snarl.

“Oh,” said Crybaby, looking fascinated. “That’s interesting.”

“Patrick?” Pete whispered. 

“I don’t think that’s Patrick,” said Poison, wide-eyed. 

Doctor Addy scowled and spoke into her radio. “Excuse me, but where are my scarecrows? I requested a _sedation_.”

 _”Sorry, ma’am,”_ a voice crackled in response. _”We’re having a bit of trouble.”_

Benzedrine smiled. It looked wrong on his face, painful, almost, his skin stretched far too wide. He took a slow step toward Doctor Addy.

“I don’t care if you’re having _trouble,_ ” she snapped into her radio. “I need reinforcements!”

Crybaby giggled. “Oh, doctor, I don’t think you’ll be getting any.”

Doctor Addy looked back and forth between Benzedrine and the door. Poison held his breath.

Then Benzedrine lunged, grabbing onto her throat and squeezing, tighter, tighter, _tighter_ until she was red and gasping. “Send the others out!” she choked into her radio. Benzedrine snarled and knocked it out of her hands. He shoved her down to the ground and smashed her head into the floor, making a _crack_ that turned even Poison’s stomach. 

“Patrick!” Pete shouted, looking terrified. “Stop it!”

“Don’t stop!” Crybaby cheered him on. “Show her what you’re made of!” Poison shot her an incredulous look; she was watching Benzedrine with a hungry look in her eye, as if she were tempted to join him. 

Pete ran over to Benzedrine and attempted to pull him off of Doctor Addy, but he wouldn’t budge. He just kept knocking her head into the floor. Her eyes had fallen shut, and the floor beneath her was gradually being stained with red. 

“Poison!” Pete said hysterically. “A little help?”

“I, shit, sorry!” Poison grabbed Benzedrine’s arm and yanked it away from Addy’s throat. “Stop it, you idiot! If you’re going to kill her, just use a goddamn gun!”

Benzedrine wrenched his arm out of Poison’s grip. He was breathing hard, every muscle tensed. Slowly, his eyes flicked up from Doctor Addy to Poison. 

A tiny burst of fear shot through Poison’s heart. 

Then Pete hurled himself at Benzedrine, wrapping his arms tightly around him. “Wake up,” he said. His voice shook with fear, but it was unmistakably an order. “Wake _up_ , Benz, this isn’t you!” Benzedrine struggled against him, but he didn’t let go. 

“Patrick, please,” Pete begged. “ _Stop it_!”

Benzedrine went still. 

He released his grip on Doctor Addy, who slumped to the floor; unconscious or dead, Poison didn’t really care. He could only watch with horrified fascination as Benzedrine closed his eyes and sank into Pete’s arms. 

“Patrick?” Pete said frantically. “What’s wrong? Oh, come on, don’t go to sleep--”

Benzedrine groaned and let his head flop to the side. 

“Just stay awake,” Pete urged him. “C’mon. I’m here. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Benzedrine’s eyes fluttered open. Poison examined them closely; the previous yellow was gone, replaced by a light grey-blue. Pete heaved a sigh of relief.

“Patrick,” he said. “What the hell was that?”

Benzedrine made a weak noise, shaking his head slightly. 

“What?” Pete asked, leaning in closer. “I can’t hear you, Pattycakes.”

Benzedrine mumbled something inaudible, then coughed, trying again.

“Run,” he whispered. 

Pete shook his head firmly. “Not until you’re strong enough to move. We’ve got Poison and Crybaby, and there are more people in the building who are on our side. We’ll be fine. Just try and breathe, okay?”

Benzedrine struggled to push himself up. “Pete,” he said hoarsely. “Y’don’t get it, they’re worse than me, you need to _go._

“Who’s worse?” Poison asked, a feeling of foreboding passing over him like a shadow. “Is-- is it the people Doctor Addy called for?” Benzedrine nodded. “Who are they?”

Benzedrine just shook his head.

“Patrick,” Pete said cautiously. “Who are they?”

“Guys,” Crybaby whispered. 

“Not now,” Pete snapped. “I know we have to hurry, but just give us a minute, all right?”

“Guys,” she repeated. 

Poison turned to look at her, but his eyes caught on the doorway. Standing in it were two familiar faces; faces that should have been a comfort to see, but instead made Poison’s chest constrict. 

He closed his eyes, but when he opened them, nothing had changed. They were still there. 

Jet Star and Kobra Kid had their guns pointed straight at his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there aint no party like a killjoy party cause this killjoy party has green day and blink-182 
> 
> (sorry for taking longer than usual to update!! im doing bbb this year so im already spending a lot of time working on that)
> 
> also, quick question: would anyone be interested in a prequel/minific centering around killer king? he has a lot of backstory that probably won't end up in this fic so if ya wanna see it let me know in the comments


	9. Brother, If You Have the Chance to Pick Me Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first things first:
> 
> I AM SO SORRY. IT'S BEEN AGES. I GROVEL AT YOUR FEET, I NEVER MEANT TO LEAVE Y'ALL HANGING SO LONG AAAAA
> 
> but hey here i am with an update!! i'm not dead!! 
> 
> allow me a moment to explain myself. until now, i've kept a pretty regular schedule with this fic, updating once every couple weeks with consistently-sized chapters-- aaaand it kinda caught up with me. i totally burned myself out and lost motivation for a while. in the meantime, i started writing for bbb, and it consumed my life ^^; (i've made really good progress on that project though!!) 
> 
> so here's the dealio. this chapter's shorter than normal so i'm sorry about that :( but we actually aren't that far from the ending! like...... at all! we'll probably get one more chapter and a brief epilogue. thank you guys so much for sticking around. 
> 
> now, without further ado, let the update begin!

Poison swallowed hard, not taking his eyes off the twin barrels aimed right between them. This was a dream. It was a nightmare, it _had_ to be, there was no way it could be real. 

“Come with us,” said Kobra. The sound of his voice sent a pang through Poison’s heart. Kobra seldom spoke in anything more than a monotone, but this was a complete and utter lack of emotion. It was flat, lifeless. 

Jet’s finger twitched on the trigger of his gun. “Now.”

Poison took a cautious step forward.

“Poison!” Pete hissed. “Come on, man, we have to do something!”

“Give me a minute,” Poison said distractedly. “I’m just gonna…” He took another step forward, his eyes flicking back and forth from Jet to Kobra. They’d both gotten paler under the city lights. Jet’s hair wasn’t as frizzy as it was in the desert heat, and Kobra’s sunglasses were gone. His eyes were in plain view, nut-brown as ever, but duller than they should have been, like the spark had been sucked right out. 

Jet pressed his gun to Poison’s forehead, and Kobra turned to Pete.

“Any funny business,” he said flatly, “From any of you, and he dies.”

Pete raised his hands. “I got that, thanks.”

“Brother against brother,” said Crybaby, sounding awed. “They’ve certainly upped their game.”

Poison looked over his shoulder to Pete and Benzedrine, but it was a delayed reaction. It felt like the entire world had slowed down around him. He was staring at two of his best friends whom he’d thought were dead, and they were working for BLi. They were trying to kill him.

But it wasn’t _really_ them. BLi had brainwashed them, that was all. They could still be saved. Maybe if Poison cooperated, if he could get them alone…

“The rest of you, follow us,” Jet ordered. “We’re watching you.”

He led Poison out of the room. Kobra trailed after them, pointing his gun to Pete, Benzedrine, and Crybaby in turn. 

“Jet,” Poison found himself whispering. “Come on, this isn’t--”

“It’s Ray,” Jet said sharply. 

Poison sighed. “Okay. Ray… I know this isn’t you, it’s just BLi. You’re better than this. You don’t have to do this.”

“You are to be silent until you arrive at your holding cell,” said Jet. A rough prod of his zap made Poison wince. 

“We’ll be okay,” Pete murmured to Benzedrine. Poison didn’t want to risk turning around, but he could hear Benzedrine’s panicked breathing. _Poison_ should have been panicking. He was the one confronting his supposedly-dead family. But instead of fear, all he could feel was a tiny, broken bloom of hope. 

They could still be saved.

Pete’s reassurances were a calming sound, quiet and soothing. As they made their way through the wrecked hallway, Poison found himself able to stand up tall. Looking at Kobra and Jet still made it hard for him to breathe, but he could do this. He had to be strong for them. He would fix them just like he was fixing Ghoul, and everything would be okay.

His positive self-talk was interrupted by a burst of shrill laughter from Crybaby. 

“What’s so funny?” Pete snapped. 

“Oh, nothing,” she giggled. “This is just so _dramatic_. I wish I had popcorn.”

“It’s nothing to laugh about,” said Pete. 

“But _isn’t_ it? If you don’t laugh, Sandy-boy, what’ll you do? Cry? We’ve got no time for tears, I’m afraid.”

“You are to remain silent until you arrive at your holding cell,” said Kobra. “All of you.”

Crybaby sighed, and Poison didn’t have to turn around to envision her pouty face. “But that’s no fun, little Kobra Kid!”

“That’s Mikey to you.”

“Ooh, how fancy,” Crybaby purred. “What a pretty city name! So clean-cut, it doesn’t suit you. No, you were a little wretch like the rest of us, once. I’ll stick with Kobra Kid.”

“You are to remain silent,” Jet and Kobra said in unison. 

“Good luck with that,” Poison muttered. 

“I don’t want to be quiet, is the thing,” said Crybaby. “I want to be _loud_. I want to mess up those cute white suits of yours and make a scene, just because I can, and I’d like to annoy you as much as possible while doing it. Does that sound good?”

Neither Jet nor Kobra graced her with a response.

“I don’t like being ignored,” she said sweetly. “Would you like to hear me scream? Because I will.”

“She will,” Pete said nervously. “Loudly.”

Kobra reached into his pocket and pulled out a black strip of cloth, turning and stalking behind Poison’s line of sight. 

“No!” Crybaby said crossly. “No gags, that’s not--”

She screamed at the top of her lungs. Poison cringed and clamped his hands over his ears, but Jet barely reacted. Her voice was cut off after a few seconds, turning to a muffled shriek as she was presumably gagged. 

But Crybaby wasn’t about to be stopped by something as simple as a strip of fabric. She kept chattering on as they walked, her noises incomprehensible, but no less obnoxious than her normal speech. Poison knew it was a tactic to get at Kobra and Jet, but it was still annoying as all hell. His ears were still ringing from her scream, and the fact that she didn’t seem at all bothered by their situation was grating on his nerves. How could she act so calm?

“Can you just take the gag off?” Pete finally begged. “It’s better to let her talk.”

Kobra made no move to obey him, but Pete must have done it himself, because a moment later, Crybaby’s voice became clear. “Thank you ever so much, Mr. Sandman! I needed that. Hey, Jet Star? Kobra Kid? My good friends? If you’d just let me talk, I could’ve told you something very important!”

Poison’s brow furrowed. Jet Star was looking at Crybaby now, his grip on his ray gun slightly looser than it had been before, so Poison thought it would be safe to turn and look, too. 

Crybaby was beaming at the both of them. “Well? Aren’t you going to guess what it is?”

“We have no time for your silly games,” said Jet. 

Crybaby giggled. “Oh, but this is the _best_ game. It’ll be so satisfying when I win. I love winning, don’t you, boys?”

“What were you gonna tell them?” Pete whispered.

Crybaby patted him on the cheek, smiling fondly. “That I was only stalling, of course.”

Poison belatedly recognized the sound of footsteps drawing near.

Kobra and Jet must have realized it at the same moment. They whirled around in tandem, zaps pointed up, and Crybaby shrieked with excitement. “This is the best part!”

Killer King burst through a door at the end of the hallway, flanked by a sizeable squadron of juviehalls, and all hell broke loose. He fired off one shot after another, almost catching Kobra in the face before he ducked out of the way. Poison took the opportunity to knock his brother’s gun to the ground. He saw Pete shoving Benzedrine toward Killer, and Jet firing into the crowd, but everything was so chaotic, he could barely process it all. 

But one thing was clear. Jet Star and Kobra Kid were hopelessly outnumbered. No matter how quickly they moved, no matter how they covered each other and shot down their enemies without even blinking, they couldn’t win. 

Poison didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, he ended up by Crybaby’s side, both of them with guns pressed to their heads.

“Not this again,” Poison muttered. 

“Why so glum? Think of it as Russian roulette,” Crybaby suggested.

“These guns don’t use bullets.”

“... Slightly more dangerous Russian roulette?”

“Everybody freeze!” Jet shouted. “If anyone moves, they both die!”

Someone fired off a stray shot, but Killer King waved his hand quickly, and the fight came to a standstill. Suddenly, Poison was very aware of his own breathing. Even Crybaby was silent. Killer stared at Jet and Kobra, blinking a few times before their identities dawned on him. The briefest of shocked looks crossed his face before it smoothed over. 

“What do you want?” he asked finally. 

“Safe passage,” said Kobra. “You will allow us to proceed uninhibited. Then, you will vacate the premises. In return, we will not harm your leaders.”

Killer scoffed. “Right. Allow me to rephrase that for you: you won’t harm them _until_ we vacate the premises, right?”

Kobra inclined his head slightly. “If you prefer to put it that way.”

“You son of a bitch,” Killer said, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t dare touch them.”

“Wouldn’t we?” Jet said calmly.

“No, you wouldn’t. They’re too valuable, and he’s your family,” said Killer, pointing to Poison.

“I can assure you, he is anything but,” said Jet. “Once, perhaps. But the other one… She has no such claim.”

Crybaby barely had the chance to look surprised before his gun went off. 

There was an instant uproar. Crybaby’s body hit the floor, but the noise was lost in the furious shouts of Pete and Killer King. Someone screamed; long and wordless. Poison pressed a hand to his mouth. There was blood soaking one side of his face and most of his shirt, but that was nothing compared to the pool gathering at his feet. He kept his eyes away from the floor.

“In case we were unclear,” Kobra said quietly. “That was a warning.”

He barely raised his voice, but it could be clearly heard, even over the frantic shouting of Crybaby’s juviehalls. 

There were now two guns pushed into either side of Poison’s head. It was unnatural in the deepest sense of the word to feel afraid of Jet Star and Kobra Kid, but in that moment, Poison couldn’t have been more terrified. If he was going to die, he didn’t want it to be like this. Anything but this. 

“Okay,” said Killer, his voice shaking slightly. “We’ll let you go. Just… don’t shoot him.”

“Killer,” Pete whispered. He leaned in and said something, too close to Killer King’s ear for Poison to make it out. Killer glanced at Benzedrine and cursed under his breath. 

“You can keep the test subject,” Jet said boredly. “He’s outlived his use. Now, step aside.”

“What happens if we do?” Killer challenged. “How do we know you aren’t just gonna kill Poison anyway?”

“You don’t. But wouldn’t you prefer to buy him time, even if it is meaningless in the end?”

“Just go,” Poison said urgently. “Every second you waste here is a second the ‘crows could be coming for you, come on! Just go, I’ll be fine, I swear.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” said Killer. “We--” He was cut off by Benzedrine whispering something else in his ear. He turned away from Poison, leaning in closer to Benzedrine and Pete. 

“You have until the count of three to move aside,” said Kobra.

Killer tensed, and he let out a muttered _“fuck”_ before he was turning and firing his ray gun, once, twice, right on target. The pressure on Poison’s temples vanished. 

The pool of blood at his feet seeped further and further down the hall. He shook himself, Killer’s shot echoing in his mind, but the implications not quite sinking in. 

Then his eyes finally landed on his brother. 

Kobra was lying motionless beside Crybaby, his white uniform soaked with red. Jet was slumped beside them. 

“No,” said Poison, his mouth dry. “No, no, _no_ \--” 

Pete was at his side in an instant, holding him up as his legs collapsed beneath him, holding him back as he struggled to reach Kobra. It couldn’t be too late, it _couldn’t be_. There had to be something they could do. But Poison’s traitorous limbs were weak, and Pete dragged him away before he could lay a finger on Kobra’s pulse, or lack thereof-- no, his _pulse_ , he…

“I’m so sorry,” Pete murmured. “We’ve got to go, Poison, come on.”

Poison couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat.

***

He didn’t know how they made it out. Their escape was a blur of gunfire and muffled shouting, someone tugging on his arm, supporting him as he stumbled down the halls of Linda Vista and out onto the street. His heart pounded over the dull roar of white noise. He could feel himself moving, but it was distant, disconnected. Like this body wasn’t really his own. He was floating somewhere far off, frozen in the moment before Killer King had pulled the trigger.

He watched the streets pass by, turning into tunnels, then the halls of Crybaby’s compound. Well, it wasn’t Crybaby’s. Not anymore. It was nameless, an empty shell of the hub it had once been. What would they do without their leader? 

People passed by Poison as he was led through the halls, but they were all just a blur of faces. None of them made any difference to him. Juvies and killjoys alike watched him with concern, touching his shoulders, their lips moving with unheard questions, but he ignored them all. 

All until one.

“What the _fuck_?” Ghoul said furiously, shoving a pair of nameless juvies out of the way. “What happened out there? Nobody fucking tells me what’s going on, I just heard _something went wrong_ \--”

“Gho--” Poison caught himself just in time, swallowing down the name he couldn’t yet speak, “Frank. I… hi.”

“What happened?” Ghoul asked again, cupping Poison’s face in his hands. “You look like shit. Where’s Pete? Where are Killer and Crybaby?”

“Crybaby’s dead,” said Pete’s voice. He appeared at Poison’s side, Benzedrine trailing close behind.

“She’s _what_?” Ghoul said incredulously.

“Dead,” Pete said again, sounding exhausted. “Everything went wrong. They had things, people we didn’t know about.”

Poison slumped into Ghoul’s arms, Killer’s shot still ringing in his ears. 

“Are you gonna be more specific?” Ghoul asked. He wrapped his arms around Poison, doing his best to keep the killjoy standing. “Seriously, what the _fuck_ went down in there, I need details. I’ve never seen him like this.”

“He had a crew, back in the desert,” Pete explained. “BLi took a couple of ‘em and wiped their brains. We weren’t expecting to find them today, but we did.”

Ghoul made a noise of outrage, and Pete continued in a soft voice, but Poison wasn’t listening. He let everything fade away, just as he had done as they ran from Linda Vista. In his mind, he was still running. He wasn’t sure he would ever stop.

At some point, Pete left with Benzedrine, and Poison ended up back in his room. He and Ghoul didn’t talk as they sat down together. Ghoul just held out his arms, and Poison fell into them, the ache in his chest spreading through his entire body as he cried.

Ghoul rubbed tiny circles into his back, whispering meaningless comfort. It was nice, but it only reminded Poison more of home. So much had gone wrong. Even when he made it back to the desert with Ghoul, things would never be the same. They wouldn’t be the fabulous killjoys anymore. They’d just be one broken half of a family, clinging to each other with all their strength. 

When Poison had first been kidnapped, the pain of Jet and Kobra’s deaths had been a constant burden, until it was buried beneath layers of medication and re-education. Now, all the old wounds had been opened back up, and BLi had gone and poured salt into them. If only Poison had known they were still alive, maybe he could have done something. If only he’d been able to stop Killer. If only he could turn back time, rewrite the past, erase the heartbreak BLi had waged against every enemy, if only he could save the people he loved.

But even if he wished a thousand times, nothing would ever change.

***

Poison woke up with his head resting in Ghoul’s lap. Ghoul was playing with his hair, gently combing his fingers through the crimson strands. Poison leaned into it, savoring the sweet comfort of his touch. He didn't need to talk to enjoy it. He didn't even need to think. It was blissfully simple.

“Hey,” Ghoul whispered.

Poison didn't answer. Ghoul hadn’t stopped toying with his hair, so he didn't need to.

“You don't have to say anything. We can just sit, if that's what you want.”

Poison wished he had the energy to smile, just to give Ghoul some sort of confirmation, but Ghoul didn't seem to need it. “I can just talk to you,” he said. “You don’t have to reply. I don’t mind. I’ve been thinking about a lot of stuff lately, stuff I think you’ll want to hear about. Well, actually, that should probably wait… But I can just talk. And you can rest.”

His fingers scratched idly at Poison’s head.

“It was weird, not having you here to annoy me all the time.”

Poison shifted a bit. Ghoul was staring down at him, a slight frown pulling at his lips. 

“You can’t check out on me now, man. I know you’re going through hell right now, and I’m gonna do my best to help you through it, ‘cause I know you trust me more than the others. Dunno why, but you do. I’m gonna need that trust now more than ever, though, ‘cause I’m not letting you crawl into yourself and disappear. We can hide. But we aren’t vanishing.”

He took Poison’s hand and laced their fingers together. “If I don’t make you talk, you can’t lose the ability. Deal?”

Poison sighed. 

“Deal?” Ghoul persisted.

“Deal,” Poison whispered. 

They lapsed back into silence. Poison’s mind faded back into static, just loud enough to drown out any thought. Processing his situation was a task for another day. For now, he was content to sit still, numb but for Ghoul’s gentle touch.

***

Poison watched Ghoul as he came in, setting a tray of food on the desk. There was something about him that seemed different, but Poison couldn’t place what it was. 

“I brought you food,” Ghoul said unnecessarily. “You hungry?”

“Not really,” Poison murmured. 

“Will you try and eat something anyway?”

Poison’s eyes narrowed. He spent a minute calculating whether or not Ghoul would push it if he said no, and if the resulting argument would be worthwhile. 

He decided it wasn’t. “Yeah, give it here.”

Ghoul carefully set the tray on the bed next to Poison. Poison was caught somewhere between hunger and relentless apathy-- the scent of fresh bread made his stomach growl, but at the same time, the thought of eating made him sick. 

He focused on Ghoul instead. Lately, Poison had been either staying up far too late or sleeping the days away. He’d never asked Ghoul to stay, even though it was what he so desperately wanted, but Ghoul never needed him to ask. He stuck by Poison’s side through it all, never complaining, even as Poison’s fucked-up sleep schedule dug dark circles beneath his eyes. He didn’t even tease Poison the way he normally would have. 

_Something_ was different. If Poison didn’t figure it out, it was going to drive him nuts. 

The realization hit him just as he began chewing on a bread roll. 

He nearly choked, swallowing it down before staring hard at Ghoul. “You’re wearing black.”

“Yeah,” Ghoul said, not shying away from the eye contact. “I am.”

“But-- your uniform, it’s gone.” Poison touched the black fabric of Ghoul’s t-shirt, slightly awed. The white button-down BLi had given him had vanished. Instead, here he was, clad in a color that could only signify allegiance to the juviehalls. 

“Why?” he asked. Ghoul had to confirm it. He had to speak the words aloud, and verify the hopes thrumming through Poison’s chest.

“I got tired of white,” said Ghoul. 

Poison raised an eyebrow. 

“And… I started looking into BLi’s records.Turns out they kill way more people than the killjoys do. They almost killed _you_ ,” Ghoul muttered. “I couldn’t let-- I’m not allying myself with people like that, not anymore.”

At that, Poison felt himself smile for the first time in days. He couldn’t help it. The waiting was _finally_ paying off. If Ghoul was embracing the killjoy cause, he’d be ready to remember in no time. He’d be Fun Ghoul again. 

“Don’t look so smug,” Ghoul grumbled. “You were right, okay? I admit it.”

“I’m not smug. Just happy for you,” Poison said softly. “This is really, really good.”

Ghoul looked away. “Don’t get your hopes up. I know you’re pissing yourself with excitement for me to be a killjoy, but I’m not... It’s still… It’s weird. I mean, the whole moral dilemma is bad enough, but I don’t even know who I used to be. I don’t know if I’ll like that person.”

“You will,” Poison promised. “You’re doing the right thing, Frank. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Ghoul hummed. “Well, if it can bust you out of the funk you’ve been in these past few days, it can’t be so bad, I guess.”

Poison smiled. “Shut up.”

“ _You_ shut up. And eat something, you’re no good to us if you go and die of starvation. You’ve gotta get out there and destroy BLi, remember?” 

Poison faltered, his gaze flickering to the door. “I’m not… Frank--”

“Sorry,” Ghoul said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. You don’t have to bust out there right this minute or anything. We can wait as long as you need, okay? Just stop talking and start eating, that’s all I meant. It’s been too long, you’re gonna start digesting yourself or something.”

Poison kept his eyes on the door a moment longer, but then Ghoul placed a hand on his, and his attention was stolen.

This was okay. They both had things to face, but they could wait a bit longer. They would ease into it together. 

As long as Poison had Ghoul, he felt safe from whatever the future held.

***

“You need to open the door,” said Pete. 

Poison didn’t move from his bunk.

“It’s been days, Poison. You need to come out.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” said Poison. He looked to Ghoul, daring him to say otherwise, but Ghoul didn’t say anything. _He_ knew how to respect Poison’s boundaries, unlike certain other people banging at the door. 

“Yes, you do,” said Pete. “Frank? I know you’re in there, man, come on. Talk some sense into him.”

“If he doesn’t want to leave, I’m not gonna make him,” said Ghoul. 

Pete sighed. Poison could almost see the frustrated look on his face. “Poison, come _on_. You can’t stay locked up in there forever. You need to talk to us.”

“If that ‘us’ includes Killer King, I’m not moving,” Poison said flatly. 

Pete laughed bitterly. There was a long pause.

“And there’s another reason you should come out,” he finally said. “You don’t know what’s been going on out here. Trust me, I’m not including Killer King.”

Poison sat up, eyeing the door suspiciously, then looked to Ghoul. “What’s he talking about?”

“I can’t, he made me promise not to tell you anything,” Ghoul said apologetically. “If you’re not ready to leave, you’re not ready to hear it. That’s all I can say.”

Poison scowled. He stood up, walking slowly over to the door. “What do you mean?” he asked Pete. “Why aren’t you including Killer?”

“We aren’t exactly on good terms right now,” Pete answered. “I’ll explain when you get out here.”

Poison rested one hand against the door, torn by indecision. If he left his room, he’d have to return to normal life. He’d have to deal with people giving him sympathetic looks, trying to talk to him, to help him. They could try and slow down the world for him, but no matter what they did, it would keep on turning, and Jet and Kobra would still be dead.

Inside his room, there was peace. He could stay frozen in time with no repercussions. But if he left, he would have to throw himself back into motion-- if he was out, he was out. There could be no looking back. 

He wasn’t ready to leave Jet and Kobra behind. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Just… not yet.”

He heard Pete sigh in response. “There’s a lot of shit going down out here, Poison. Not the kind of shit you can miss.”

“Hey,” Ghoul said sharply. “He said no. Leave him alone.”

There was a moment of silence. It stretched into a minute before Pete replied, “Fine.”

He didn’t say anything more.

Poison retreated to his bunk, the mattress creaking as he sat down. He didn’t regret his decision, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about what Pete had said. It made sense that the relationship between Pete and Killer would be fragile after what had happened to Ryan, but what had Killer done to make Pete so angry? Thinking about it made him want to know more and more.

He’d tried to hide from the world, to forge himself a safe space, but the world had found a way in anyhow. Now that it had entered his thoughts, he knew there could be no escape.

“Frank?” he asked. “You know what’s going on, don’t you?”

Ghoul nodded. “I can’t say anything, though. I made a deal.”

“Ugh. Why would you do that?” 

“Because he’s right. You will need to leave eventually. And when you do, you’ll want to find out for yourself.”

Poison sighed. Even when Ghoul had no memories, he could still read Poison like a book. “He isn’t going to stop asking.”

“No, he’s not,” Ghoul agreed. “You can refuse however many times you want, though.”

Poison didn’t know how long he would be able to last with the seeds of curiosity planted in his mind.

***

Poison woke up to the sound of voices. Even with his brain fuzzy from sleep, it took him half an instant to recognize one of them as Ghoul’s, which wasn’t at all unusual, considering how often Ghoul talked in his sleep. But his voice was much too calm for that to be the case. Casual, even. And the female voice that spoke in response was a glaring sign that something was wrong. 

Poison kept his eyes shut and listened carefully.

“He was going to break down eventually,” the voice murmured. “He can put on a brave face for the firefights, but deep down, he’s only human. I guess I was crazy to think of him as invincible. ”

“I don’t understand why anyone does,” Ghoul replied. “But then again, I don’t understand much of anything.” 

“You will. It just takes time. I mean, two weeks ago you were barely speaking to him, but look at you now.” The girl’s voice sounded vaguely familiar, but Poison couldn’t quite place it. He cracked one eye open just enough to see. 

New Americana was sitting on the bunk across from Poison’s with her legs criss-crossed. Judging by the way she was sitting back, she had been there for a while. A flicker of annoyance passed through Poison, but it was quickly drowned out by confusion. Why was she in his room? Why had Ghoul let her in?

He shut his eyes again before either of them could take notice. 

“I can’t really stop myself,” Ghoul murmured. “I feel like… I don’t know. Every time I understand something new, I’m more in control, but I’m also… _losing_ control, if that makes sense.”

“I think it does,” said Americana. “That’s BLi for you. They fuck you up. But it’s not just them, you know. It’s part of being a person. You’re never really going to know what’s right.”

“Mm-hmm. If you say you do, you’re probably faking it.”

Americana laughed. “Nice to see you loosening up a bit.”

“Yeah. If I kept thinking so much, I’d just drive myself crazy.” There was a long pause. “I dunno. The only thing I can be sure of is that this feels... right. He feels right.”

“You planning on facing the reason why any time soon?”

“I dunno. I’m trying not to think so much, remember? We’ll see where it takes us.”

It was at this point that Poison decided to intervene.

He turned over in his bunk, giving them enough warning to stop talking before he seemingly woke up. “Frank?” he said sleepily. “‘S somebody there?” He sat up slowly, turning to Ghoul, and put on his best surprised face when he laid eyes on Americana. 

“Hey, you’re up!” she said, smiling. “Good morning! Or, I should say, good afternoon.” 

“What are you doing here?” Poison asked. Ghoul moved away from Americana and came to sit beside him. 

“She wanted to talk to you,” he said apologetically. “I didn’t think it would be right to turn her down. It’s sort of urgent. I can kick her out if you want.” Poison hadn’t been angry in the first place, but watching Ghoul try to correct his imagined slight was enough to bring a smile to his face.

“No, that’s fine. I think it’s time I talked to somebody who wasn’t you, anyway.” He looked to Americana. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I _was_ going to ask what you’re planning on doing,” Americana said thoughtfully. “But according to Frank here, you haven’t even left your room yet. So I guess trying to convince you to join my faction is sort of useless.”

Poison frowned. “Join your… Americana, I’m not a juvie.”

“I know,” she said. “But you could be. I mean… Not to be insensitive, but you haven’t got a whole lot tying you to the desert anymore.”

Poison winced. All intentions aside, there was no way to make those words sting any less. He knew they were true. He’d thought about it himself. Upon returning to the desert, there would be nothing waiting for him. The diner wouldn’t feel the same without Jet, Kobra, and the Girl. Nothing would. 

But that didn’t mean he was willing to give it up. He was a killjoy; the desert was his home. His heart would always belong there. He couldn’t settle in the city if he tried.

“I told her you’d never consider it,” said Ghoul.

“Yeah,” Poison said slowly. “Why would you even ask?”

Americana grinned. “Are you kidding? You’re one of the biggest names in the zones, kid. Recruiting you would boost our street cred by a thousand. If there was a chance in hell you’d accept, I had to ask.” Her smile faded. “I didn’t think you’d want to stick around here.”

Poison stared at her.

“You know,” she added. “After everything that’s happened with Killer.”

“Americana,” Ghoul murmured. 

“I didn’t say anything,” she said, holding up her hands. “Nothing was said.”

Poison’s eyes narrowed. “Pete mentioned something happening with Killer, too. Is that what you’re talking about?”

“I won’t tell you anything unless you ask me to,” she said. “Frank would bite my head off.”

“But is it, though?”

Americana cast a wary look at Ghoul. “Can I answer that?”

“It’s the same thing,” said Poison. “It must be. Right?” He looked to Ghoul for confirmation, and Ghoul slowly nodded. 

Poison sighed. Here was yet another opportunity for him to put life on hold, but this time, he didn’t really feel like he had a choice. Ever since Pete had come knocking at his door, the outside world had been a constant presence in the back of his mind, creeping into the forefront of his thoughts whenever his attention wandered. 

His grace period was up.

“Okay,” he said. “Tell me.” 

Ghoul squeezed his hand. He didn’t need to say it out loud, but Poison knew he was offering him the chance to say no, to back away. Poison shook his head slightly and waited for Americana to begin.

“Well,” she said hesitantly. “Crybaby’s dead. You know that.”

“I probably know that better than anyone,” he said with a grimace. Whenever his nightmares didn’t feature Jet and Kobra, they would put him on his knees, with a pigtailed girl lifeless on the floor beside him. He could still feel the blood soaking one half of his face. 

Americana gave him a sympathetic look. “Yeah. If it’s any consolation, she probably would’ve thought it was hilarious.”

Poison stared. 

“What, you getting blood all over you? She would’ve laughed her ass off,” Americana said defensively. “Tell me you can’t see it.”

Poison paused. “Okay, yeah. I can see that happening.”

Americana sighed. “Gotta love Crybaby. The most fucked up chick I’ve ever met, though that wasn’t her fault… But that’s a story for another day. The point is, she’s gone, and that means her faction doesn’t have a leader. Or, it didn’t.”

“Didn’t?” Poison frowned. “Did she have a successor?”

“Not exactly,” she said, wincing a bit. “Inheritance of power is… a bit of an issue within factions. She never really chose anyone to be heir. Even if she did, that person wouldn’t have been able to take control without a bit of a struggle… I took over for a couple days, but I couldn’t be the permanent leader, obviously. I’ve got my own business to attend to. It was just sort of assumed that someone would step up.”

“And that’s exactly what happened,” said Ghoul. 

Poison could see the puzzle pieces forming in his mind, and exactly how they might fit together, but he refused to let them click into place. “No,” he said. “No way.”

“Killer was the obvious candidate,” Americana said with a shrug. “He’s got connections and a reputation from his tumbleweed work, and he’s been taking a direct role in faction activity ever since you arrived. People know him. People like him. He got nominated, so he didn’t turn it down.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” said Poison.

“That’s why I thought you might be interested in joining up with me,” she said. “It wouldn’t have to be permanent. You could stay until you’ve got everything sorted out, and then you could go home.”

Poison frowned. “What is there to sort out?”

Ghoul and Americana exchanged a grim look. 

“You’ll need to talk to Benzedrine before you leave,” said Americana. “You haven’t got the full story yet.”

***

Leaving his room didn’t feel the way Poison had expected it to.

He had expected to feel vulnerable, exposed; like he had shed a layer of armor. In reality, it didn’t feel much different than staying inside had. He didn’t need to hide anymore. He was beyond anxiety, and his grief had faded into a duller sort of pain, one that might never truly fade, but wouldn’t distract him any longer.

And now that his mind was clearer, he could face the fact that he was fucking pissed off. 

Ghoul led him down the hall, toward where he said Benzedrine would be. Along the way, they ran across several juviehalls, who, thankfully, didn’t ogle Poison for too long. The events of the Linda Vista mission must have been kept under wraps. Poison doubted he would’ve been able to move through the compound without a gaggle of onlookers if they hadn’t been.

“Pete’s probably going to be there,” Ghoul said carefully. He still appeared to be treading on thin ice around Poison. With anyone else, Poison probably would have found it annoying, but Ghoul was a different story. Ghoul would never be condescending, or underestimate him, or incorrectly assess what he could or couldn’t handle. Ghoul understood him. 

“He’s going to want to talk to you, and he’s gonna be pissed off,” Ghoul continued. “But you’ve got to listen to Benzedrine above anything else. You can talk to Killer later, or not at all, but today is just about showing you the entire picture.”

Poison nodded. He had no shortage of questions, but he could save them for when Pete and Benzedrine were present. Judging by the way Ghoul spoke of them, they would have more answers. 

They finally came to a stop in front of a steel door. It was better-reinforced than any Poison had yet seen, with not only the typical scanners, but a heavy deadbolt and a sign that read “Quarantine.” 

But there was something unsettling about it that went beyond the security. Poison spent a minute looking before he realized what it was. Almost all the doors he had seen in the compound had some sort of decorative sticker, undoubtedly applied by Crybaby, but this one was bare. 

“Frank?” he said. “Is this where Benzedrine is?”

Ghoul nodded. He punched a code into the first scanner, then went through the rest, smoothly working through each of them until the door hissed open. He’d obviously done it many times before. Poison waited for him to step inside before following.

When he first entered the room, he thought it was empty.

But then he saw the chair. Pete had pulled it up next to one of the walls, which was made of thick glass, and was talking animatedly, pressing his hands against it.

Sitting on the other side was Benzedrine. 

“We will,” Pete was saying. “We will, I promise. But we gotta get you out of there first.”

“No fucking way,” Poison said out loud.

Pete turned at the sound of his voice, trying for a smile and not quite making it. “Hey, Poison. Finally climbed outta that rut, huh?”

“Is this why you’re mad at Killer?” Poison demanded, ignoring Pete’s question. “Did he do this?”

“Don’t blame him,” said Benzedrine. His voice sounded different than it should have; there was the slightest hint of static to it, like he was speaking through a radio. There must have been microphones in his section of the room that broadcast his voice to those outside. 

“Pattycakes, we’ve been over this,” Pete said. “He’s the one who--”

“I’m the one who agreed,” Benzedrine said calmly. He was sitting on the ground with his legs crossed, looking far too placid for someone imprisoned behind a sheet of glass. “Until we know how to control this thing in my head, I shouldn’t be out there. I could hurt someone.”

Poison approached the glass, crouching down to Benzedrine’s level. He couldn’t help but shake his head in wonder. “You’re like a fuckin’ rat in a cage, man.” For a moment, he just stared, then slapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh, shit! We haven’t been formally introduced, have we? Fuck, sorry. I’m Poison. I’d shake your hand or some shit, but…”

Benzedrine laughed. “Nice to meet you, too. We’ve met before, of course, but that was a long time ago.” He smiled sadly. “A lot has changed since then. I guess it’s necessary to re-introduce yourself when you’ve become a different person.”

“You’re not _that_ different,” Pete said sullenly. 

“I am,” said Benzedrine. “We all are.”

Looking at Benzedrine, Poison could feel the burn of anger slowly taking him over. “Why would Killer do this?” he asked. He glanced up at Pete and saw his own fury reflected. Pete was scowling down at the ground, his hands clenched tight around the edges of his chair. 

“Because of what happened with Addy,” he said through gritted teeth. “We don’t know what’s wrong with Benz, so we don’t know how to help him, and apparently, that means we should lock him up indefinitely. That’s _totally_ a logical conclusion.”

Poison opened his mouth to say something indignant, but Pete cut him off. “And here’s the thing,” he said, gesturing agitatedly. Poison sensed an incoming rant. “He still fucking thinks he’s better than everyone! I’ve told him so many times that he can’t do this, he doesn’t have the _right_ , but he just blows me off. _He’s dangerous, Sandman, he’s uncontrollable_. Well, so fucking _what_? That doesn’t mean you put him behind bars! We went to Linda Vista to rescue him, but we haven’t been treating him any better than Addy did!”

“You have,” Benzedrine spoke up. “Worlds better. I don’t mind the quarantine, Pete, really. As long as we’re working towards a solution, I’m fine with it.”

“Well, I’m not!” Pete snapped. “It’s bullshit!”

Poison could tell this was not a new argument. He didn’t want to step in the middle of it, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but take Pete’s side. Benzedrine had been tortured by BLi, and here they were, punishing him for it. It wasn’t right. 

“Have any of the tests helped?” Ghoul asked. He still hadn’t come any closer to the glass; instead, he hung back by the door, looking wary.

Pete shook his head. “I don’t think it’s medication that did this.”

“They think something might’ve been surgically implanted in my head, but no one really wants to crack it open and check,” Benzedrine said with a wry smile.

“Shit,” said Poison, incredulous. “You don’t even know what they did to you?”

“I know the gist of it,” Benzedrine said. “But not the details. That’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about.” He looked directly into Poison’s eyes, suddenly serious. “I was part of an experiment called Project Youngblood. I was the first successful test subject, but… not the first overall.”

Poison didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t sure why Benzedrine was telling him this, but something in his voice cast a feeling of foreboding over him, like a stormcloud brewing in the back of his mind. 

“For a while, they just tortured me. But once the experiments began… There was another subject, one that started before me. I never met her, but I know she didn’t survive,” Benzedrine said slowly. 

A thought suddenly occurred to Poison. The second it did, he pushed it away as violently as he could. 

“I hate to jump to conclusions, but… it makes sense,” Benzedrine said quietly. Poison willed him not to go on, but he just looked away and said, “I’m sorry. I think she was yours.”

_No._

_God damn it._

Poison resisted the urge to punch a wall.

They couldn’t have. She was just a _kid_ ; the idea was abhorrent. She was so young, but not only that, the Girl had been Poison’s last hope. Besides Ghoul, she was the only family he had left, and BLi had gone and taken her from him. They’d taken everything.

“It was all about control,” said Benzedrine. “Better Living already has most of Battery City brainwashed on meds, but it’s never enough for them. They wanted a way to make people completely loyal to them.” He shivered. “So they put something in me they could always control.”

Pete made a pained noise. 

“Jet and Kobra were part of it too.” 

Poison’s head snapped up. “What?”

“They were the next phase,” Benzedrine said, shifting uncomfortably. “I was a good experiment, but not perfect. I could still fight them. So… the next step was to put a consciousness into dead bodies, instead of living ones.”

Poison’s ears rang. “ _What_?”

“They didn’t want their subjects to have any sort of autonomy, so they started using corpses.” Benzedrine swallowed hard. “Killer didn’t kill your family, Poison. They were already dead.”

_They were already dead._

The words refused to compute.

Poison had been wrong to mourn Jet and Kobra, then. He should have been focusing on getting back at BLi. He would fucking kill them, he would do anything. Those of Better Living were less than human, he’d always known that, but there were some lines that were never meant to be crossed. This was too far. This went beyond life and death, but the simple, sacred concept of humanity.

They’d taken Poison and brainwashed him, with luck as his only savior. And now they had taken his family, denied them the right to fight back, beat them down and dragged their bodies through the mud, and turned them into _tools_. 

“Poison?” Benzedrine asked nervously. “Are you okay?”

Poison’s mind whirled. He wasn’t certain where his thoughts were going. There was only one thing he could be sure of, and that was the hatred coursing through his veins, focused entirely against Better Living fucking Industries. 

He leaned forward and knocked his forehead against the glass that separated him from Benzedrine, sighing deeply. That fucking glass. That _cage_. In a time like this, it was too much.

“Take me to Killer,” he said. “We’ve got shit to discuss.”

***

Poison knew any attempt to talk to Killer King would probably end in a screaming match between the two of them, but he couldn’t wait any longer. His head was starting to hurt from thinking. He needed a distraction, and he needed a way to vent his anger; it seemed best to kill two birds with one stone. 

When Killer opened the door to his office, he didn’t look surprised. Scared, maybe. It sent a flicker of satisfaction through Poison. At least Killer knew he wasn’t going to be let off easy.

“So,” Poison said pleasantly, stepping inside without invitation. He let Pete and Ghoul follow him in before punching the button to close the door. It slid shut with a _click_ , the sound magnified against the silence of the room. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

There was a long pause. 

“I’m sorry,” Killer said softly. 

“I don’t give a shit,” said Poison. “Answer my question.”

Killer retreated to his desk, sitting down on the edge and looking nervously up at Poison. “There was no other way. They were going to shoot you, and when Benzedrine told me they were just puppets--”

“This isn’t about Jet and Kobra,” Poison snapped. “God knows I could fuck you up for what you did to them, but it’s in the past. They’re dead. Have been for a long time. I’m not about to forget them, but I can’t waste my time mourning when there are more pressing things to deal with, like the way you _locked up a killjoy_.”

Killer swallowed hard. “Oh.”

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?” Poison spat. 

“No,” Killer said quickly. “No. You don’t know how fucking hard it is to be in this position, Poison. I love Benzedrine, he’s like my brother, okay? But he agreed to it, and if there’s any chance he could hurt someone--”

“Hold the fuck up,” said Pete. “We don’t know how _hard it is_?”

“I--”

“You’re the one who stayed behind in the base where it was safe while Crybaby went out to die,” Pete said furiously. “You’re the one who stepped into her place as soon as it was available. You’re the one who chose to do this, and you fucked it up, and now you’re trying to say it’s okay just because you were under _pressure_? Fuck that! You don’t know _anything_ about pressure!”

“I didn’t choose this,” Killer said with a scowl. “You know me better than that, Pete, you know I’ve never wanted to be a leader.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I didn’t see you turning down the job offer, so it kinda seems like you did.”

“I couldn’t have turned it down!” Killer protested. “Americana has to take care of her own faction, and Crybaby never trained a successor, so I’m the best-qualified person here. Besides, I’m one of the only people who knows what’s actually going on when it comes to the rehab centers. I couldn’t just stand by.”

Poison shook his head. “That’s all well and good, but it doesn’t have anything to do with Benzedrine. You put him in a _cage_!” He jabbed a finger at Killer to emphasize his point. “A cage, Killer. In what fucking world is that okay?”

“He agreed with me. He said it was the best idea, just to make sure everyone is safe--”

“I don’t care!”

“Well, I do!” Killer snapped. His voice was tight and brittle enough to break. “This is why I didn’t want to lead the faction! I can’t handle shit like this. As soon as we find a way to get Ryan out of the Third Eye, I’m gone, seriously. I’ll find someone else to replace me, train them up, whatever they need, I just… I’m not staying here.”

Pete stared. 

“You’re so goddamn selfish,” he said.

Killer exhaled through his nose. “I’m not selfish. I’m just trying to do what’s best for everyone.”

“Are you _kidding_?” said Pete, his voice finally rising to a shout. “You took the position. You can’t just back out once you’ve got what you want! You stepped up, you said you’d be a leader, so _lead_. This isn’t only about you. You can’t run forever, Brendon!”

“I’m not running.” Killer’s gaze could have burned a hole through Pete. “I’ll only fuck things up worse if I stick around. That’s the truth, and you know it.”

“You’re a coward,” said Pete. 

Killer opened his mouth to retort, then closed it. When he spoke, his voice was much quieter. He had never really sounded angry, just defensive, but now, he couldn’t even raise his voice to make a case for himself. He just sounded miserable. 

“There’s too much at stake here,” he said. “Benz said… He said there was a spy, okay? There’s somebody in the compound feeding information to Doctor Addy. If everything was normal, I might find a way to make it work, I dunno. But this isn’t normal. I can’t be the head of a faction if that means protecting Benzedrine, protecting everyone else _from_ him, fighting with my best friends, and trying to find a spy when I might end up suspecting the wrong person. I can’t.”

Pete just shook his head. “There is no _normal_. Being a leader is always fucking hard. If you’re that scared of it, you never should have accepted the offer. We would’ve been better off with no one in charge than with you.”

He glared at Killer for a second more, then turned and stalked out of the room.

Poison and Ghoul looked at each other, eyes wide. _Holy shit_ , Ghoul mouthed. 

Pete poked his head back into the room. 

“By the way,” he said, looking at Killer. “They would’ve hated you for this.”

Killer flinched as if he had been slapped. 

Pete disappeared back into the hallway. 

Poison looked at Killer, then looked away. The air was heavy with the echoes of angry words.He didn’t have to say anything more to make a point. He stepped toward the door, beckoning Ghoul to follow.

He stopped in the doorway. 

“Pete’s right,” he said, not looking at Killer. “You can fix your mistakes, or you can run from them. Get your shit together, you asshole, and stop making things worse.”

Then he walked out.

Inside, Killer sat on his desk, alone with the ringing silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that was loaded
> 
> in other news i can't wait to write killer's backstory
> 
> (it might be a while before the next update but i promise i'll be back!)


	10. We're Taking the Sound Back with Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys SO MUCH for being patient with me!! i know it's been ages, but here is the long-awaited update, hope it doesn't suck!

Once Poison’s anger faded away, it was replaced by an echo of disappointment and exhaustion.

A spy. There was a fucking spy in the compound. As if there wasn’t enough shit for him to deal with already, now he had to suffer through the bickering of the killjoys and juviehalls and everyone in between. Every time he thought they were beginning to work together, a new argument about what to do flared up. Wherever the traitor was, they must have been pretty fucking pleased with themselves, watching the chaos they’d created. 

Poison could tell as soon as he walked into the meeting room that it wasn’t going to go well. 

Brobeck, Electra, and a few juviehalls he didn’t recognize were seated around the long table. They all looked tired. Brobeck raised his hand in greeting to Poison, but quickly let it fall, and the others barely seemed to notice his presence. Pete had laid his head down on the table, and Gabe was spinning his wheeled chair in a slow circle. At the front of the room, Tyler paced back and forth, gesturing in the twitchy way he did when he was anxious.

“This isn’t just about you! It’s not about any of us,” he said, waving his hands around in agitation. “We have to trust each other, o-or we’ll -”

“That’s the opposite of what we have to do,” said Pete, his voice muffled by the table. “We can’t trust anyone right now. Or did you not get the memo? There’s a spy, Blurry. BLi are literally tracking our every move from the inside. What part of that tells you to _trust_ people?”

“Bli would want us to fall apart,” Tyler said stubbornly. “We have to stick together.”

“He’s right,” said Brobeck. “These are rough times, yeah, but things will only get worse if we let it get to our heads. It’s not like we haven’t had security breaches before. We’ll make it through.”

Pete sat up and rubbed at his eyes. “Yeah, but have you had security breaches where BLi knew where you’d be before you even made a move? This isn’t normal, Brobeck, we can’t pretend it is. We’ve got to exercise some caution here. Start asking around to see if anyone’s been behaving oddly.”

“We can’t go telling the entire faction what’s going on,” Electra said, exasperated. “Believe it or not, we do have protocol here. That alone tells us something about the spy - if there really is one. It’s got to be someone with high clearance, high enough to know most of the goings-on around here. Like all of us in this room. But these are the people we trust most. If we suddenly decide we can’t rely on one another, who _can_ we rely on?”

An uneasy silence fell over the room.

Poison took the opportunity to make his presence known. He cleared his throat. “So, what exactly is going on right now?”

No one seemed surprised by his entrance. Bob pulled out a chair for him, and Poison sat down, looking back and forth from Pete to the juviehalls. “Recap, anybody?” he asked. 

When no one moved to explain, Brobeck leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “When Benzedrine was in Linda Vista, he heard some things, some of which implied there might be a mole within the compound.”

“It wasn’t all that clear, honestly,” said Gabe. 

“Right,” Brobeck said with a nod. “But it’s highly likely, and we should still take it seriously. We’re debating whether or not we should put the compound on lockdown.”

“Which means?” Poison questioned. 

“We’d temporarily seal off the entrances and exits and cease all outside activity. Trading, patrols, raids, everything. We’d probably have to do a security check over everyone inside, too, just to be safe.” Brobeck sighed. “Which means more work for me, of course.”

“That sounds smart, though,” said Poison. “Why is anyone against it?” He glanced around the room, trying to pick out who the naysayers might be.

He wasn’t expecting Electra to be the one to speak up. “It puts us in a difficult position,” she said with a shrug. “Cutting off trade means we’ll have limited supplies for an indefinite amount of time. Plus, I stand by what I said before. This spy isn’t some low-ranking juvie. It’s got to be someone important, otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to give away the details of the Linda Vista rescue - and if they’re someone important, they probably won’t have reason to leave the compound, so a lockdown wouldn’t help us much.”

“That logic’s a little faulty,” Gabe objected. “Who says it’s somebody important? It could just be some random guy sneaking around and eavesdropping.”

“The doors are made out of steel, Gabe, it’s a little hard to eavesdrop,” Pete said under his breath.

“You know what I meant. What if it’s just somebody hacking the computers or whatever? It could literally be anyone. Listen, I don’t know you juvies as well, but I can vouch for all the killjoys in this room. We wouldn’t give up your secrets, none of us.” He held eye contact with each of the juvies for a minute, as if daring them to say otherwise. 

“Nobody’s accusing anybody,” Brobeck said calmly. “We still don’t really know what’s going on. We’re just throwing around ideas until we can figure it out.”

“Although, we should probably think about a suspect list,” one of the juviehalls said thoughtfully. Poison didn’t know her, but she must have been important. As soon as she spoke, all eyes were on her. She spoke softly, but her words had a certain gravity to them, a certainty Poison knew well; she was definitely some sort of leader. “Not to cast suspicion on anyone, but if there’s anyone who’s been acting strangely, we should know about it.”

Her gaze rested on Poison for a split second.

Poison coolly raised an eyebrow. She looked away quickly enough that it might have been an accident, but it was enough to throw up a red flag in the back of his mind, and if he’d learned anything in all his years as a killjoy, it was to trust his instincts. That was no accidental glance. “What is it?” he asked, a little sharply. 

“What is what?” she asked. Her tone was casual, almost overly so, but there was a hint of a smirk in her expression. Poison bristled.

“If you’ve got something to say, say it to my face,” he snapped. “Who even are you, anyway?”

“That’s Brooklyn Baby,” said Electra, slightly wide-eyed. She gave Poison a look as if to say _”back off”_ , but he was having none of it. Brooklyn Baby was now eyeing him with unmistakeable frostiness, and he didn’t fucking like it.

“Poison, she didn’t even do anything,” Brobeck said quietly. 

Poison ignored him. 

“Do you even know who I am?” he demanded. “You know what BLi _did_ to me? To my family? If you honestly think that me, _Party Poison_ , would be caught dead working for -”

“I wasn’t suggesting anything about you,” said Brooklyn Baby. 

“Then what _were_ you suggesting?”

Poison kept his eyes fixed on her, crossing his arms over his chest. She didn’t flinch away, but she didn’t say anything, either. After a minute, it became apparent that she wasn’t going to make a case for herself, and he scowled.

“Okay, let’s get back on track,” said Brobeck. He was the calm to Poison’s chaos; the warmth to Brooklyn’s ice. “We need to seriously consider what’s at stake here -”

“Wait,” said Poison. He held up a hand. “Back the fuck up.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at Brooklyn Baby. “You weren’t suggesting anything about _me_ , huh?”

“No, I wasn’t,” she said simply. “I only said that if there’s anyone in this compound who harbors sympathy for BLi, we should investigate them.” Her eyes glinted with something like smugness. Poison was reminded uncomfortably of Doctor Addy. It was almost enough to distract him from what she had said, but not quite.

“That’s not what you said before,” he said slowly. “You said we should investigate people who acted weird. Not people who had _sympathy for BLi_.”

As he and Brooklyn Baby held eye contact, tension filling the air between them, Pete’s head thunked back down onto the table. “Now you’ve done it,” he muttered. 

Poison crossed his arms over his chest. “Gabe said this once. I’ll say it again, if it’s that fucking necessary,” he said icily. “Nobody in this room has an _inch_ of sympathy for BLi. So what if we had our brains wiped for a while? That doesn’t mean we’re secretly in favor of Better Living. It just means we’ll fight even harder against them.”

“I didn’t say anything about anyone in this room,” Brooklyn said calmly.

Gabe’s chair stopped in mid-rotation. Pete audibly sighed, as if bracing for the oncoming storm.

Poison was left confused. That...didn’t make sense. If not them, then who?

Then it hit him, and Pete had his arm in a vice grip before he could do anything stupid like _punch her in the fucking face_. 

“I heard your friend took a much longer time adjusting to life as a juviehall than the rest of you,” Brooklyn Baby said coolly. “In fact, he still doesn’t classify himself as one. Is that correct?”

“He has a fucking _name_ ,” Poison snarled. He ripped his arm out of Pete’s grip. “And it’s _Fun Ghoul_ , because he’s a _killjoy_. Killjoys don’t sell out their friends to BLi, you sick fuck!”

“Hey!” Electra said sharply. “Both of you, chill out. Brooklyn, you’ve already been debriefed on the situation. Everything’s under control. If you’re not going to be civil, you can get the hell out. And Poison, quit jumping down her throat, this is supposed to be a peaceful discussion. We’ll kick you out too if you don’t get it under control.” She punctuated the last sentence with a glare. 

“Jumping down her _throat_?” said Poison, outraged. “Electra, did you hear what she -”

“Yes, I did, but you both need to calm down. Brooklyn, can you do that? No more unfounded accusations.”

“It wasn’t an _accusation_ ,” Brooklyn said delicately, “But a legitimate suggestion. This spy could be anyone. Why shouldn’t we investigate all our options?”

“Because Fun Ghoul poses no threat to us,” Electra said firmly. “None of the killjoys do.” Pete hummed with agreement, and Bob nodded. 

Poison wondered why he hadn’t made friends with Electra Heart sooner. She was obviously the best out of all the juviehalls.

“Now,” she said, sitting back with an sigh. “If we can get back to the topic at hand. Should we put the compound on lockdown or not? Let’s have a vote. All those in favor, raise your hand.”

Most of the people in the room put their hands up. Poison counted Pete, Brobeck, Gabe, and Brooklyn Baby among their numbers. He hated to put himself on the same side as Brooklyn, but he raised his hand anyway. From what he’d heard, a lockdown sounded like the best way to trap their little rat in place, and the sooner they caught him, the sooner people would stop looking to the killjoys with suspicion. The very thought made his blood boil. 

He had assumed it went without saying that he would sooner die than work with Better Living. He was a killjoy, for fuck’s sake. It was in his nature. If there was a weak point in the compound, it would be a juviehall, probably someone new to the scene who still saw logic in BLi’s methods. They would be discovered soon. 

But maybe “soon” wasn’t soon enough.

***

Poison leaned over Ghoul’s shoulder, grabbing for his notebook, but Ghoul held it tight to his chest. He didn’t budge, even after Poison tried to forcibly pry his fingers from the cover. He was scowling, but there was a hint of a smile beneath it; if Poison could crack his walls, they’d come tumbling down.

“Get off, motherfucker!” Ghoul complained. “This is private!”

“But I want to _see_!” Poison insisted. “Come on, you’ve been writing for ages and I still haven’t seen any of it.”

“So? You aren’t entitled to poke in my business,” Ghoul huffed. 

“That’s not fair, though! I showed you the songs I wrote!”

“Well, maybe if we were at the Rent-A-Ment, I’d let you hear. But sadly, we aren’t.” Ghoul shrugged. “Tough shit.”

Poison’s jaw dropped.

“Wait, are you writing _songs_? I thought it was just a journal! Oh, now you’ve _got_ to let me see, you -” He snatched at the notebook again, tugging at Ghoul’s fingers to no avail. Ghoul batted him away and held the book just out of his reach.

“I said no!”

“You have to!”

“I don’t have to do shit!” said Ghoul, and there was the smile Poison had been waiting for; more than a little exasperated, but still radiant. He felt a smile creep up on his own face in response. Ghoul smiled back, and they spent a minute grinning at each other like idiots.

Poison was suddenly very aware of how close he was to Ghoul. 

If he just leaned forward a bit, he could wrap his arms all the way around the other killjoy’s waist. He shifted forward just slightly. He didn’t expect Ghoul to move away, not really, not after all the nights they’d spent holding each other through the nightmares, but he definitely wasn’t expecting Ghoul to close the gap between them and rest his head on Poison’s shoulder.

Poison’s pulse kicked. 

It was a sudden kind of intimacy, the kind that took you over and had your heart swelling before you could blink twice. Poison’s fingers curled against Ghoul’s back. Ghoul was softer than he’d been in the desert, though that might have been less of a physical difference and more a difference in the way he carried himself. There was still sharpness inside him, of course, cutting wit and rough edges that’d come out when anyone got on his nerves - but now, he relaxed into Poison’s arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if this was something they _did_. Holding each other in broad daylight, when neither of them was suffering through panic or depression.

They definitely hadn’t done this before. Not since the zones. Not since Ghoul had forgotten what he meant to Poison, and what Poison meant to him. It was a burst of sweet familiarity amidst all the changes they’d been through.

No matter what happened, he was still Ghoul, and buried somewhere deep inside him were the feelings that matched up to Poison’s when he drew back to look Ghoul in the eyes, slightly breathless. 

Poison really, _really_ wanted to kiss him. 

He wondered if Ghoul’s feelings were still too buried for him to want the same thing.

“So,” he blurted out, quickly taking his hands off Ghoul before he could do anything stupid, “If we actually were at the Rent-A-Ment, would you let me hear your songs?”

Ghoul’s brow furrowed, and he looked confused; a little disappointed, even, though that could just be Poison projecting. He shifted back a little and flipped at the pages of his notebook. “Uh… maybe,” he said, after a minute of consideration. “But we can’t go, you know that. We’re in lockdown mode.”

“Yeah, but,” Poison said slowly, “What if?”

An idea was beginning to bloom in his head. It was stupid - _very_ stupid - and dangerous, too, but then again, all his ideas usually were. If it worked, it’d be a hundred percent worthwhile. All they needed was a little time away from the compound… Ghoul had been dancing on the edge of his memories the last time he’d touched a guitar. Maybe now that he’d distanced himself from BLi a bit more, it would be the push he needed to recover them fully.

Poison could be patient. He’d never, ever rush Ghoul into something he wasn’t comfortable with, but he was only human. He just wanted Fun Ghoul back. _His_ Fun Ghoul, with memories intact and no questions of killjoy morality and no hesitation when he buried his fingers in Poison’s hair and tugged him down for a kiss. Was that so much to ask?

Ghoul gave him a suspicious look. “What are you thinking right now?”

“That I want to take you out of here,” Poison said honestly.

***

“This is stupid, this is _so stupid_ , what the fuck are we _doing_?” Ghoul hissed. 

“Scouting,” Poison muttered back. “We can’t sneak out if we haven’t checked the entrances.”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Ghoul groaned. “All this for a little music?”

 _No,_ Poison wanted to correct him, _All this to see you smile._

Instead, he tugged Ghoul down the hallway without a word. He could only hope whoever was watching the security cameras wasn’t paying much attention. They strolled through the halls as casually as ever, just in case, but Poison was on the alert, ready to make a cover story the moment saw them walking around in the middle of the night. This would’ve been a lot fucking easier if Brobeck had just given them permission to leave. But when Poison had brought up the idea, Brobeck just started lecturing him about safety, and they were left with only one alternative.

Poison knew exactly how reckless and ridiculous he was being. After Linda Vista, BLi was bound to be on the lookout for suspicious activity - and they weren’t the only ones. He still felt the sting of Brooklyn Baby’s accusation. If they were caught trying to sneak out, it wouldn’t help matters at all.

But if his plan worked…

If it worked, then everyone would see. 

“We should go back,” said Ghoul. 

“No,” Poison said. “Not yet. All we have to do is check the doors, okay? Then we’ll go back.”

Ghoul sighed. He looked like he wanted to protest further, but didn’t voice it. “Fine. If it’s that important to you.” 

Poison grinned, tugging Ghoul down the hall by his sleeve. They were rapidly approaching the waiting room now. That was as far as they could go. He’d been keeping a careful eye on the security cameras as they went, noting their angles, the way they rotated, anything that could be used to their advantage - but their last obstacle was the night guard. When they popped into the waiting room, they’d ask whoever was at the front desk for information about tomorrow’s shift schedule, as if they had forgotten. Easy. While they were inside, Poison could take note of who would be on guard duty next, if the exits looked easy to open, and, mostly importantly, the screen that displayed the security feed. 

He tried not to feel too daunted by the gravity of what they were doing. 

“Poison,” Ghoul said suddenly. “Somebody’s coming.”

“Fuck,” Poison said under his breath. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder. Ghoul was right; he could heard the click-clack of footsteps somewhere nearby, but the source wasn’t yet visible. “Okay, act natural. We’re just stopping by the waiting room, okay?” Ghoul nodded. They kept walking, Poison’s heart thumping against his ribs. This was fine. They were fine.

A shape flashed across his vision, and he froze in place, unthinkingly throwing his arm out to stop Ghoul from moving too.

A short ways down the hall, Bob slid his key card through the reader and slipped into the waiting room.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Ghoul murmured. 

“I don’t know,” said Poison, his brow furrowing. “You wanna follow him?”

“Yeah. It’ll look less suspicious if we’re not the only ones out here.” 

They cautiously approached the door so Poison could swipe his card through. The sensor beeped, the sound far too loud in the quiet of the night, and the door slid open. 

Poison expected to walk in and see Bob conversing with whoever was on guard duty.

What he didn’t expect to see was an empty room.

Bob was gone, and the chair behind the guard’s counter was empty. The screens next to it showed various views of the compound’s halls and tunnels. 

“Where the fuck is the guard?” Ghoul asked. 

Poison’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.” He stepped around the corner, sliding into the empty chair. It was cold to the touch. Clearly, no one had been watching the security feeds for a while. He scanned over each of them until he found the screen that displayed the waiting room.

Instead of showing him and Ghoul, it showed an empty room.

“Fuck,” he said.

“What is it?” Ghoul asked, leaning over his shoulder. Poison pointed to the screen. Ghoul inhaled deeply. “Oh, fuck. Did somebody...”

“Tamper with it? Yeah.” Poison pushed the chair back out and stood without thinking. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

Ghoul turned away from the screen, alarmed. “What?”

Poison pointed to the door. “He went that way. We’re following him.”

This time, Ghoul didn’t argue. He grabbed a flashlight from below the counter and followed Poison to the door, holding it open after they had stepped out. “How are we gonna get back in?” he said nervously. “There’s nobody inside to accept the password.”

“We’ll think about that later,” Poison said grimly. “We’ve got bigger problems right now.” Bob was his friend, but the fact that he was sneaking around in places the security systems had been tampered with… Well, it was suspicious to say the least. 

Poison flicked his flashlight on. The tunnels were dark as ever, their cold stone walls made sinister by the night. Ghoul held onto his hand as they walked. Poison tried to keep up a brisk pace, angling the flashlight to see farther into the tunnels ahead, but the fact that they couldn’t see Bob was worrisome. If they guessed incorrectly what direction he had taken, they could end up hopelessly lost. 

They kept as quiet as they could. Poison listened for the smallest sound, the slightest tap of a boot against concrete, but his efforts were in vain. There was nothing to hear. He nearly jumped at the sound of his own footsteps multiple times. 

“Poison,” Ghoul whispered, his voice seeming louder against the silence. “Maybe we should head back.”

“We can’t,” Poison whispered back. “We have to find out what he’s up to.”

“It might be nothing, though. Maybe he’s on a mission.”

“And the security cameras? That was just a coincidence?” 

Ghoul didn’t respond. Poison squeezed his hand, and they kept walking. 

His resolve only held out for so long. 

They needed to find Bob, it was true, but Ghoul had a point. Getting lost wouldn’t help their cause at all, and the longer they were away from the base, the more difficult it would be to find their way back. They could lose Bob at any moment. And to top it all off, the tunnels started to branch out as they traveled further, providing all the more wrong turns to make. If they went the wrong way, they could end up in BLi territory. 

Poison allowed himself to come to a stop.

“You’re right,” he sighed. “We should get back. I don’t want to just leave, though. If the trail goes cold…”

“It won’t,” said Ghoul. “If we report this to somebody, we can get an actual search party going.”

Poison blinked. “That’s… actually a really good idea. Fuck.” He suddenly felt like hitting himself. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Ghoul smiled and waved his hand for them to turn around. Poison passed him the flashlight and allowed him to take the lead, nervously eyeing the darkness ahead of them. This direction was identical to the one they’d been facing before. Part of him wondered if they’d already gotten turned around. He tried not to think about it.

After walking for ten minutes, the flashlight began to flicker. 

Poison barely managed a curse before they were plunged into darkness.

Ghoul drew in a sharp breath and clutched onto Poison’s arm,squeezing so tightly it almost hurt. A pit of dread was building in Poison’s stomach. Ghoul smacked the flashlight against his palm. It lit up again, and hope flared in Poison’s heart, but it sputtered out after only a few seconds. 

“Shit,” said Ghoul, his voice laced with panic. “Poison?”

“Frank,” said Poison. His throat was dry.

“We really might be fucked here.”

Poison knew he was right, but he still forced himself to shake his head. “No. We’ve just got to keep walking in this direction. We didn’t make any turns, so if we just go this way, we’ll find our way back.” There were some pretty obvious flaws in his logic, like how the fuck they’d be able to find the door with no light to guide them, but thankfully, Ghoul didn’t comment. They could cling to their optimism, no matter how foolish, until they were forced to let it go.

They walked in silence, Ghoul’s shallow breathing an echo of Poison’s. 

The constant blackness was beginning to make his head swim. He was fucking tired, considering how little he’d slept and how long he’d been on his feet. It made the tunnels seem endless. Who knew how long they might be wandering beneath the surface? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He found himself glancing over his shoulder every few seconds, even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to see anything. A little paranoia was appropriate in his situation, but he had the sudden, powerful feeling of being watched, like ants crawling over his back, and he couldn’t shake it off.

When he saw the first flash of light, he thought he was hallucinating. 

Poison squinted. The afterimage danced across his vision, splashing the darkness with spots of purple, and there it was again. The distant bobbing of a flashlight beam. He slowed to a stop, tugging at Ghoul’s hand to get his attention.

“You see that?” he whispered. 

“Yeah,” Ghoul breathed. “What is it?”

“Dunno. Could be a drac.” If it was, then they were really screwed. Poison had his gun, but it wasn’t fully charged, and Ghoul’s was still back at the base; they hadn’t expected to be leaving tonight. 

“I don’t think that’s a drac,” said Ghoul.

Poison could just barely make out the figure holding the flashlight. It didn’t have the lazy stroll of a drac, nor the rhythmic pace of a scarecrow, but it was approaching them quickly and without pause. Poison wasn’t sure if they’d been seen. It was probably best if they weren’t.

“Poison, I think it’s Bob,” Ghoul whispered. 

“What?” Poison examined the figure more closely. The build was right, but he couldn’t make out any defining features. If it really was Bob, they had just stumbled upon a massive stroke of luck; he could lead them back to the base.

But the question remained; why had he left at all?

There was only one way to find out.

Poison jogged forward, pulling Ghoul in his wake, until the figure was only twenty feet away. It was definitely Bob; Poison could see that now. He had stopped at the side of the tunnel and was reaching out for a rounded handle, preparing to open it and dart back inside the base.

“Hey!” Poison shouted. 

His voice echoed off the walls. Bob startled violently, and his flashlight dropped to the ground with a clatter. It rolled a few feet, causing the beam to bounce wildly off the walls, before finally coming to a stop. 

Bob stooped down to pick it up, then slowly lifted it to shine on Ghoul and Poison.

Ghoul winced and covered his eyes. “Put that thing down, you’re gonna blind me.”

Bob ignored him. “What are you guys doing out here?” he asked with a nervous laugh. “It’s a little late to be walking around.”

“We were looking for you,” Poison said simply. There was no point in playing games. Every passing second brought them one step closer to the truth; the least he could do was hurry it up.

“Oh,” said Bob. “Well, you found me. I was just doing something for Killer, no worries.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You wanna get back inside?”

“Sure,” Ghoul said flatly. “As long as you plan on explaining -”

Poison gave his hand a sharp squeeze. If Bob wanted to pretend everything was normal, that was fine. They could play along. They’d still be reporting him. 

“Go ahead,” said Poison, stepping back so Bob could get the door. He opened it with no visible difficulty, but Poison wasn’t stupid. He could see the tremor in Bob’s flashlight beam. 

Poison squinted against the sudden light as he stepped inside. He and Bob clicked their flashlights off, and Ghoul pulled the door shut behind them. There was a tense silence as Poison and Bob eyed each other. Poison wouldn’t be the one to make the first move. Bob knew he had been caught; it was up to him to fess up to whatever he’d been doing. 

He waited.

And waited. 

“All right, I’m gonna go wake up Pete,” he said bluntly. That finally got a reaction. Bob’s eyes widened, and he almost dropped his flashlight again.

“W-what? Why?” he stammered. 

“If you really think I’m gonna believe Killer sent you out this late, on your _own_ , you’re not as smart as I thought you were,” said Poison. He turned to Ghoul and lowered his voice. “Stay here with him. There should be a radio under the counter; if he tries anything, just call me. I’ll be with Pete. We’ll be back soon, and then we can wake up the others and head to the meeting room.” Ghoul nodded. 

“What?” Bob said weakly. “Poison, what are you talking about? If I _try_ anything?”

“Drop it,” Poison said curtly. “Seriously, Bob. You’re not doing yourself any favors by lying. It’s better if we’re honest with each other.”

Bob set his flashlight down on the counter with a soft _click_. He looked up at Poison with dark, almost-purple shadows beneath his blue eyes, and Poison expected him to speak, but he didn’t. 

When he did, it was in a small, defeated voice.

“Okay.”

Poison’s heart sank. Part of him had been hoping Bob would keep up the act, that he’d ask why Poison was being so confrontational, or say he was heading back to his own room. But he knew exactly what was going on. They both did. They just hadn’t spoken it aloud.

Sometimes, Poison wished the truth could be ignored. 

“Go on, Poison,” said Ghoul. “I’ll wait here.”

Poison nodded. It made him a bit nervous to leave Ghoul alone with Bob, but Ghoul was capable of handling himself, memories or no. He forced himself to walk out the door without looking back, instead heading straight for Pete’s room. He was much more familiar with the many corridors of the compound than he had been when he first arrived. It took him almost no time at all to locate Pete’s door and give it a hard knock.

“Pete,” he said, loudly enough to wake Pete if he was asleep, but not so loud as to wake the entire hall. “Get your ass up.” He pounded at the door again, just in case Pete hadn’t heard. “Get up, it’s important!”

He rocked back on his heels and waited.

It only took half a minute for Pete to answer. His hair was sticking in every direction, and there were bags beneath his eyes, but he didn’t look surprised to see Poison. “What is it?” he said blearily. “I, like, _just_ went to sleep, dude.”

“Me and Ghoul found the spy,” Poison said flatly. 

Pete’s exhaustion vanished at once. “What?” he demanded. “Who? How?” He slid the door open all the way and stumbled out. “Show me, show me!”

“About that,” Poison said slowly. “Pete, it’s… not who we expected. Brooklyn Baby was right about a few things.”

“What do you mean, she was right?” asked Pete, suddenly pale. “You don’t mean… no, no way, not -”

“Not Ghoul, dumbfuck,” Poison said scornfully. “I’ll show you.” He started off down the hall with Pete jogging behind him, making for the waiting room as quickly as he could. When they arrived, the door was still wide open, and neither Ghoul nor Bob seemed to have moved. Bob was staring down at the floor, expression blank.

“What’s going on?” said Pete, confused. “Where’s the guy?”

Poison leaned against the counter and waited for the other shoe to drop.

“Poison, what’s going on?” Pete demanded. “Did they get away?”

“Use your eyes, Pete,” Poison said under his breath. 

Pete looked back and forth between Ghoul and Bob, still uncomprehending. “Guys?” He paused, and his gaze lingered on Bob for a long moment. Bob didn’t look up. His jaw was set as he stared down at the floor.

“No,” Pete said softly. 

“We caught him sneaking out,” Ghoul said stiffly. 

“But - _what_? Are you crazy? There’s got to be an explanation for that, guys! Right, Bob?”

There was silence.

“Right?” Pete said uncertainly.

“No,” Bob murmured. “No, there isn’t. I’m sorry. But it’s not what you think it is.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Ghoul said with a scowl. “What it _looks_ like is you fucking sneaking around. Almost like a _spy_ , hm? You say that’s not what it is, but you can’t give any other explanation. What are we supposed to think?”

“I’m not spying on you guys,” Bob said quietly. 

“They were waiting for us in Linda Vista,” said Poison. “They’d need a spy to know our plans.”

Bob took a deep breath and let it out. “It’s complicated, okay? But I didn’t…” He finally looked up, blue eyes brimming with guilt. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Not ever.”

Pete backed toward the door; slowly, like he wasn’t sure how to make his limbs move. “I think we should wake up the others,” he said distantly. “Give Bob a chance to explain. I… yeah. Meet me. I’ll be right there.”

He darted out like he couldn’t escape fast enough. Poison waited until the sound of his retreating footsteps had faded before taking hold of Bob’s arm.

“Come on,” he said grimly. “We need to have a talk.”

***

Bob was quiet. So quiet, even as the eyes of his former friends bored into him from all sides. Gabe was glaring at him so hard Poison thought Bob might burst into flames at any moment. Tyler just looked shocked. Usually, he carried himself with dignity beyond his years, but in that moment, it was easy to see him as the child he really was. His entire world had been shaken up by this revelation. But if Poison had to guess which of them was taking it the worst, he would say Pete. He was seated at the end of the table, watching Bob’s every move with an expression that Poison could only describe as lost.

Poison looked away from the killjoys and back to Bob.

“So,” he said coldly. “I think it’s time you gave us a proper explanation.” 

Bob shifted uncomfortably. Poison didn’t pity him. Let him squirm; he fucking deserved it. He’d nearly confessed to betraying them all. He didn’t deserve their sympathy. 

“Spit it out,” said Gabe. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since the beginning,” Bob said quietly. “When you first told me what was going on in the Third Eye.”

“W-what? Ever since then?” Tyler spluttered. “But I - All those times I told you what we were doing was right, and I thought you _listened_! What the hell? You’ve been lying the _whole time_?”

“It wasn’t my choice,” Bob said miserably. “I told the Director right after it happened, before the meds had the chance to wear off, and after that it was too late.”

“Bullshit,” Gabe spat. “You could’ve lied. You didn’t have to give away all our plans. If it weren’t for you, we never would’ve had to leave the Third Eye!”

“If it weren’t for me, you’d be _dead_ ,” Bob said sharply. His breathing was shallow, like a cornered animal, but he looked Gabe in the eyes, his desperation tangible. “As soon as the meds wore off, I _did_ lie to her. She never knew Hayley or Bill or any of the others were involved, thanks to me, and the only times I ever told the truth were when she got suspicious.”

“Who cares if we’re alive because you decided to get some morals?” Poison said angrily. “We wouldn’t have been in danger if it weren’t for you!”

“Wait, wait,” Ghoul interrupted. He leaned forward in his chair. “I think I get it. You, uh… You thought you were helping, right? By telling her? And then after, she was expecting so much from you that you couldn’t get away?”

“Exactly,” said Bob, relieved. “I tried to do everything I could to distract her, but she always knew if I wasn’t giving it to her straight.”

Ghoul nodded. “Makes sense.”

Poison stared. Out of anyone to play the devil’s advocate, he wouldn’t have expected Ghoul. Although, now that he thought of it, it did make sense. They’d both been deeply affected by BLi. If anyone could truly understand Bob’s thought process, it would be Ghoul.

“I mean, you’re still shit,” Ghoul said with a shrug, and Poison almost smiled. “You should’ve stopped going to her once you came to the base. You put everyone in a fuckton of danger. And it’s safe here, dude, you could’ve told someone. It doesn’t matter how bad you felt or how scared you were. You should’ve told.”

Bob cringed. “I know. I swear, I know.”

“So why didn’t you do it?” Tyler said fiercely. “I mean, what the _hell_ Bob? Why didn’t you tell me? I thought everything was okay! If anyone was going to understand, it would be me. You know that. I could’ve helped you, all you had to do was trust me. I can help you!”

“I do,” said Bob. “I’m sorry. You’re my best friends, I know I should have told you, but I just -”

“No,” Poison cut him off. “Friends are honest with each other. If you’d been honest, we could’ve sorted this out sooner and spared a lot of people a lot of hurt.” He scowled. “Killer’s gonna fucking flip on your ass when he hears about this. You’re the reason we lost Ryan, you know that? And Crybaby?”

“Wait, no!” Tyler said anxiously. “That wasn’t what I was going to say. That’s… kind of the opposite, actually. What I meant is, um, maybe we shouldn’t put all the blame on him. He did really horrible things, I know that, but it wasn’t really his fault. It was the meds. He wasn’t in his right mind when this started, but now that everything’s out in the open, maybe we can try and start again -”

“Who cares when it started?” Poison snapped. “That’s not the issue here. I get that he was still under BLi’s control in the beginning; that’s fine. What’s pissing me off is that he kept lying, kept sneaking around right under our fucking noses. There’s no excuse for it. None. We should kick him out of the compound, but that’s not an option. He knows too much.”

“No!” said Bob, stricken. “If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you guys, o-or redeem myself, I’ll do it -”

“Everyone stop talking,” said Pete.

It was the first time he’d spoken over the course of their meeting. The room was quiet in an instant.

“We _should_ kick you out,” Pete said slowly. “But that doesn’t mean we will. Traitor or not, you’re family.” 

“Exactly!” said Tyler. “We can make things right. That’s the whole point of it all, isn’t it? W-we’re not like the Director, we don’t just reject people for feeling things we don’t want them to feel. We have the emotional capacity to forgive. And we don’t kick people when they’re down.” He gave Bob a small smile. “You’re probably beating yourself up enough. The least we can do is not make it worse.”

“The kid’s got a point,” said Ghoul. 

In the privacy of his own mind, Poison wasn’t sure he agreed. Crybaby’s death was still fresh in his mind. Hell, he could still feel the warmth of her blood trickling down his cheek. He wasn’t inclined to forget it, or to let go of the fact that it could have been prevented. 

But if the others thought it best to extend mercy, he would have to do the same.

Pete still looked at Bob like a stranger. Poison couldn’t even imagine what must have been running through his head. Something in the bond between Bob and the other killjoys had been broken, possibly for good. The aura in the room was almost mourning; grieving the loss of blissful ignorance, the sudden imposition of a reality none of them had been prepared to face. Betrayal had a special kind of sting to it, one that dug beneath your skin and crawled into the darkest recesses of your mind, forcing you to question all that you had once known as true.

But this wasn’t the end. 

Killjoys were strong. That was their most defining quality; it wouldn’t abandon them now. They had an response to every problem, whether petty or life-threatening, and, as always, they would survive.

It would take time, but they would push through.

***

Just as Poison had predicted, Killer flipped his shit.

Poison was just glad he’d had the foresight to get Brobeck and Electra in the room before he broke the news. Brobeck actually had to step in front of the door in order to stop Killer from storming out and giving Bob hell. When Ryan was involved, there was almost nothing that could make him think clearly, but Brobeck refused to let him leave until he had calmed down.

The juviehalls were much more forgiving towards Bob than the killjoys had been, much to Poison’s surprise. They were suspicious, of course, and angry beyond belief, but they didn’t suggest anything more than keeping Bob under surveillance.

“Ever since I heard about Pete’s plan to heal the killjoys, I knew it’d be a stretch,” Electra said with a shrug. “There were going to be slipups eventually. Getting your mind back is a tricky process; for Bob, it was too much too quickly. Can’t blame him for that. The lying was utter shit, but you really can’t blame a guy for being scared. It’ll work out in the end.”

“Tell that to Ryan,” Killer snapped. 

“It’ll work out in the end,” Electra said patiently. “We’re planning a rescue mission now, aren’t we?”

“But… Electra, you can’t just let this _go_! Crybaby -”

“Wouldn’t have blamed him either,” Electra said firmly. 

“Are you not upset by this at all?” Killer said incredulously. “Electra, she _died_ because of what Bob told BLi!”

“And I’ve mourned her like everyone else has,” said Electra. “If you think it didn’t hurt me, you’re wrong, but right now, I’m trying to do what’s best for everyone. That’s the best way we can honor her. Shunning Bob won’t accomplish anything in the long run. It could actually drive him further away from us. All we can do is correct the initial errors in his healing process and work to amend the damages he’s caused.”

“There’s no amending death.”

“But there is moving on,” Electra said gently. 

Killer shook his head. His eyes were rimmed with red, and his hair had fallen from its usual perfect tuft into disarray. He looked like he might cry, or, more likely, flip out again. Poison’s first instinct was to call Pete - he’d dealt with Poison’s breakdowns often enough, he could handle this - but with the current tension between Killer and Pete, that wouldn’t be advisable. It would only make things worse.

Poison slipped out of the room and headed back down the hall towards his own, hoping against hope to find a bit of peace.

***

Pete had his knees pulled up to his chest as he leaned back against the wall. He had always been small - as small as Ghoul, even - but in his listless state, he somehow managed to look even tinier, like a withered version of himself. 

“It’s my fault,” he said.

“Pete,” Poison said sternly.

“You can’t tell me it’s not true, I know it is,” Pete said tiredly. “I’m coming to terms with it. Just… give me some time, okay?”

“Pete,” Poison repeated. He sat down on the edge of Pete’s bunk. “It wasn’t your fault. Seriously.” He found himself quoting Electra: “In an operation as big as the one you were planning, there were bound to be slipups. BLi’s too big an enemy to take on by yourself. You couldn’t have expected it to go perfectly.”

“I know that. But that doesn’t matter, it - it wouldn’t matter if it was just _Bob_. But people died because of this, Poison. This faction lost a leader. Killer lost Ryan, and he might as well have lost me too, things are so fucked up now,” Pete said miserably. “If I hadn’t moved so fast… Or if I’d kept a better eye on Bob, I don’t know -”

“Shut up,” said Poison. “Thinking about things that _might_ have happened isn’t going to do you any good.”

“You’re one to talk,” Pete mumbled.

“I think we’ve all been through shit that leaves us feeling guilty,” Poison said with a shrug. “But the ones who make it in the end are the ones who forgive themselves. If you can’t accept that it wasn’t your fault, you should at least try to realize that you’re still a good person. Someone you love betrayed you, and it had consequences, and it sucks. But you’ll be okay.”

Pete almost smiled. “You’re the one giving the pep talks now, huh?”

“Yeah, and it’s fuckin’ weird. You’re not allowed to get all mopey on us, we’ve still got work to do.” Poison nudged Pete’s shoulder. “You gotta step up your game; it’s gotten to the point where Benzedrine’s more worried about you than the fucking monster in his head. We just want to see that you’re okay.”

“I might take a leaf out of your book,” Pete murmured. “Just stay in here for a while. Or with Benz.”

Poison rolled his eyes. “You’re basically already doing that. If you want to stay shut up, that’s fine, but just remember that the door’s open whenever you want to come out. Sometimes you need to hear a voice that isn’t your own thoughts.”

Pete shifted on the bed and leaned over so he could take a look at his computer screen, squinting at the time displayed in the corner. “It’s getting late. I think I’m gonna go chill with Benz for a while.” He scooted off the edge of the bed, and Poison sighed, acutely aware of the change in subject.

But Pete lingered in the doorway, giving him one last look.

“Thanks, Poison,” he said quietly.

***

When the lockdown was finally lifted, it was like a huge weight was taken from Poison’s chest along with it. The compound had been suffocating lately. He couldn’t walk twenty feet without running into some juvie whispering about the killjoys; speculating on why Bob had been allowed to stay, if there might be more spies lurking. Poison didn’t know how word had gotten out - Bob’s betrayal had been kept strictly confidential - but the gossip was inescapable. Any time he walked through a populated room, he could feel each set of eyes following him. 

What was worse than the gossip, though, was the tension. A feeling of foreboding had descended over the compound, with dread rolling through the air like mist. Pete had retreated into silence. He spent most of his time sitting with Benzedrine, and when he finally stumbled out to the mess hall for meals, he moved with less confidence than he had before. Like he’d lost his bearings. Killer was in a similarly distressing state; perhaps even more so, considering he was the one in charge. The last time Poison had tried to talk to him, Killer had yelled in his face, then buried his face in his hands with a muffled apology. 

“Sorry,” he’d said. “‘M just stressed.”

 _Aren’t we all_ , Poison had wanted to say. But instead, he just nodded and backed out of the room, giving Killer a bit of space to breathe. 

Space to breathe. Wouldn’t _that_ be nice. 

Their relationship was still strained following the fiasco that was Benzedrine’s containment. It was the elephant in the room whenever they were alone, and though Poison was beginning to see where Killer had been coming from, he hadn’t fully forgiven him, and the resulting awkwardness was just another stress he didn’t need. Something had to give. Pressure was an integral part of a killjoy’s life, but this was different. Within the walls of the base, there was supposed to be solace, no matter how temporary. It had taken remarkably little for all that to disappear. Poison just hoped it would be as easy to bring it back.

In the meantime, he needed to get the fuck out of there, and there was only one person he wanted at his side when he did.

“Now you have to show me your songs,” Poison said triumphantly, helping Ghoul climb up onto the pavement from the tunnel below. “I’ve been waiting for ages!”

“Yeah, I was hoping you’d forgotten,” Ghoul said dryly. He and Poison set off down the street, sticking close to the sidelines and ducking into the shadows whenever they could. With the current state of the compound, the city might seem free, but it was still dangerous, and BLi was still looking for them.

“I’d never forget!” said Poison, insulted. They crossed a street and turned to the right. His eyes caught a shop window emblazoned with the words _“talk is cheap”_ , and he swore under his breath. “Oh, fuck. I might’ve forgotten something, actually.” He stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans and jacket, but came up with nothing. Shit. He didn’t have carbons on him, it’d completely slipped his mind in his haste to get out onto the streets.

“No worries,” Ghoul said lightly. “I’ve got you covered.” He held up two fingers, and pressed between them was a neat little stack of carbons. “You left ‘em on the bed. I thought we might want ‘em with us.”

Poison grinned. “Where would I be without you?”

“Broke and miserable,” Ghoul said smugly. “I expect full repayment for my kindness.”

“Oh, really? And what form of payment are you expecting?”

“Mm, I think I’d accept you calling me the best killjoy ever.”

“You’re the best killjoy ever,” said Poison. He raised his eyebrows. “Is that really it? You’re not gonna ask me to bow at your feet or anything?”

“Well, that _would_ be nice -”

“Don’t even think about it, I’m not going to.”

“- but I think I’ll settle for you playing me another song.” Ghoul smiled up at him. “Fair trade, right? If you get to hear the shit I’m throwing out there, I should get to hear more of yours.”

“Fine,” Poison said reluctantly. He really didn’t mind playing for Ghoul, but what he wanted most was to hear the melodies trapped between the pages of Ghoul’s notebook. Ghoul was a fucking awesome lyricist. Poison would bet good money he’d come up with something amazing; he’d much rather listen to that than his own amatuer guitar riffs. 

Ghoul seemed satisfied, and they walked the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. It wasn’t like in the compound, where quiet could only be found when there were walls between him and everyone else, hiding the whispers. It was just that there was nothing either of them needed to say. Poison wished it could be like that more often. 

But even better than the easy silence was the _music_.

The moment Poison set foot into the alley and saw a man sitting against the wall with a guitar clutched tight to his chest, he knew they were in the right place. He barely had to speak before Trophy Son was beckoning him closer. 

“I’ve been hearing all kinds of stuff,” he said, peering up at Poison through his bangs. “‘S hard to believe you’ve still alive, if half of it’s true.”

“I don’t know what you heard, so I can’t confirm or deny anything,” said Poison, “But I have a hard time believing it myself.” He passed over the carbons Ghoul had brought.

Trophy Son tucked them into his pocket. “Huh. You gonna take the guitar again?” He eyed Ghoul. “Or is this one gonna?”

“I am,” said Ghoul. He reached out and took the guitar from Trophy Son. Poison couldn’t help but notice the way he held it. There was no hesitation, not even when he sat down and fitted it against his leg, positioning and re-positioning his fingers over the frets. “Gotta figure out what fuckin’ form this is in,” he muttered to himself. “Gimme a minute.”

Poison waited patiently. He was perfectly content to watch even if Ghoul wasn’t doing anything special. Just the sight of him with an instrument in hand made Poison breathe easier; like something was finally right with the world. 

Ghoul took his notebook out of his jacket pocket and flipped through it. He set it down in front of him, leaning over to see it as he plucked at the strings of his guitar. It took him a while to get the riff right. He shifted the notes up and down a few frets before finally settling on a position, then set to work on the next section. Poison listened carefully as the song took shape. It was good; different from anything they had ever made with Jet and Kobra, but definitely good. Great, even. The only thing that could make it better were the words.

Once Ghoul had run through the basic chords a couple times, he glanced up at Poison. “So… I guess this is the part where you listen,” he said. Poison nodded eagerly. He scooted a little closer and Ghoul ducked his head, his hair falling into his eyes. 

Poison let his eyes fall closed as he relaxed into the sound of Ghoul’s voice.

He was quiet, his words just barely audible, but Poison hadn’t been expecting anything more. Ghoul was playing music for the first time in ages, and in front of people, too; there was no way he wouldn’t be nervous. But what Poison could hear brought a smile to his face in an instant. Ghoul wasn’t really a _good_ singer, not by conventional standards; he never had been. He was whiny and he hit wrong notes and half his vocals were either whispered or screamed - but that didn’t mean he wasn’t amazing in his own right. He could tap into more emotion than any other musician Poison had ever known.

Now, Ghoul was much quieter than normal, and his voice had an uncertain edge to it, like he was onstage for the first time all over again, trying to find his place.

Poison loved him so much it hurt. 

_”They see the world through tired eyes, and we refuse to live in black and white.”_

Poison could hear the moments when the song was meant to get louder, angrier; the parts when Ghoul would cling to his guitar and throw himself across the stage with little regard for his own safety. It had potential. Even like this, it was really fucking good. The lyrics Poison could make out were frustrated and conflicted, the product of Ghoul scribbling down his thoughts as BLi’s meds and teachings slowly worked their way out of his system, replaced by killjoy ideas and dreams of freedom. Poison wished he could read the rest of the notebook. If all Ghoul’s music was half as good as this… 

He was so absorbed in listening that it almost didn’t register when Ghoul stopped playing.

“I want to change the riff at the end, it’s not right,” said Ghoul. “And some of the lyrics are fucked up. It’s not a big deal, I mean, I just made this shit ‘cause I could, but I’d like to get it right -”

“Frank,” Poison interrupted. “That was fucking awesome.”

The corner of Ghoul’s mouth quirked up into a pleased little half-smile. “Y’think?”

“I don’t think, I _know_. Do you have more?”

“I… yeah,” said Ghoul, a little shyly. “You wanna hear ‘em?”

“Of course, dumbass,” Poison said fondly. “Shut up and play.”

Ghoul’s smile grew. He flipped to the next page in his notebook and began figuring out how to play the next song. As he worked, Poison wondered what he was thinking about. If playing was bringing back any old memories, or sensations, at least.

It was another few minutes before the realization hit him.

Not one hour ago, Ghoul had referred to himself as a killjoy, so casually he might not have even noticed. 

“What’re you smiling about?” Ghoul asked, not looking up from his notes. 

“Nothing,” said Poison, grinning from ear to ear. 

***

When Poison saw Killer and Pete sitting side by side in the mess hall, he thought he was hallucinating. Sleep deprivation or stress had surely addled his brains. But upon second glance, they were still there - and so was Benzedrine. 

Poison allowed himself a minute to stare before he marched up to them.

“Okay, what the hell is going on?” he demanded. “When did _this_ happen?” He gestured to Pete and Killer, then to Benzedrine. “Or _that_?”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” Benzedrine began, but Pete cut him off. 

“I decided to stop being an asshole,” he said. 

“Me too,” said Killer. 

Poison raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Are you allergic to details?”

Now that he was up close, he could see how different Pete looked. Some of the color had returned to his cheeks, and though he hadn’t looked genuinely _happy_ in weeks, he seemed content now. He had one arm slung around Benzedrine’s waist, and the ghost of a smile played at his lips. 

“I didn’t want to fight anymore,” Killer mumbled. “Benzedrine’s gonna be kept under watch, but it’s stupid to keep him locked up when he hasn’t done anything wrong. Definitely a bad call on my part. I’ve, uh… made a lot of bad calls lately. I’m working on fixing that.”

“You’re not the only one,” said Pete. The look they exchanged was significant, but its meaning was lost in Poison. He had the feeling they weren’t going to rehash whatever conversation they’d had, so he decided not to push for more information. It was their business, after all. 

“Killer’s like my little brother,” said Pete. “That’s what really matters. I’m not letting BLi split us up.”

“It’s definitely good to see you acting like a normal human being again,” Benzedrine said under his breath.

“What?” said Pete, insulted. “You _wound_ me -”

“You had me worried sick, asshole!” Benzedrine said shrilly. “You were _living_ in the containment room, you weren’t eating, and seeing you and Killer fighting was just _wrong_ -”

“Hey, shh,” Pete said soothingly. “Don’t freak out. It’s all good now. Or, it’s gonna be. You’ll see.” He glanced up at Poison. “The faction’s gonna be going through some changes pretty soon.”

Poison raised his eyebrows, turning automatically to Killer. 

“I’m stepping down,” Killer explained. “Brobeck’s gonna take over. He actually knows what he’s doing. I’m still gonna be here, but I don’t get to make stupid mistakes and fuck everyone over anymore. And in the meantime, we’re thinking we might take a trip out to the zones, just so the killjoys can be home again for a little while.”

Poison’s heart leapt. “Wait, seriously?” He beamed. “We get to visit?”

Killer smiled and nodded. “Yeah. The plan’s still in the works, but… yeah. We can visit.”

Poison barely managed a fist-pump before he was scrambling toward the door.

***

“And you want me to go with you?” Ghoul asked.

Poison nodded. He held his breath, crossed his fingers, and prayed to the Sand and Sun.

Ghoul smiled.

“Yeah, okay. Why not?”

***

Americana leaned against the wall of the train, looking smug as the killjoys gaped. “I trust you’ll be taking back everything you’ve said about juvie ways?” she asked.

Poison didn’t know what he’d been expecting. When Killer had led them to the open space they now stood in - the station - he’d been confused as to what it was for. None of the other tunnels were this big. But then the subway had slammed in, screeching to a halt to reveal Americana in the driver’s seat, and he’d been unable to form a coherent thought for several seconds. None of them had. 

“That,” Gabe managed, “Is surprisingly awesome.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Americana said, pleased. She patted the wall. “It’s also the quickest way to get out to the zones, so hop in, and we can be on our way! The dracs always get a bit antsy when we get the trains up and running - they haven’t ever found us so far, but there’s a first time for everything, so let’s try not to take too long.” She grinned and slipped inside the car. Killer swung the door to the next one down open, inviting the killjoys to step inside. 

Poison set a cautious foot on the floor of the car, then hurried to a seat.

Ghoul took the spot next to him. One by one, the killjoys filled in the gaps until the car was full, with Killer grasping a pole at the front.

“All clear!” he shouted. 

Americana waved from the first car, then pulled a lever. The entire train lurched - there was a heart-stopping moment of acceleration, and Poison thought for sure he was going to fall over, but then they stabilized. Once they hit full speed, it was almost as if they weren’t moving at all. The walls of the tunnel were pitch-black against the windows as the subway zoomed along the tracks. 

“This is gonna take a while,” said Killer. “Just sit tight. We can travel as far as the city limits, but we’ll be crossing the border into the zones on foot.”

Poison leaned his head against Ghoul’s shoulder, not bothering to hide the grin that nearly split his face in two.

***

Poison’s nerves buzzed with anticipation. His entire body was itching to move, urging him to go faster, _faster_ towards the wall. It was so close. According to Killer, they weren’t far from one of the entrances he used to get in and out of the city for tumbleweed business. It wasn’t very big, but it was discreet enough for them to slip away unnoticed by BLi, and that was all they really needed. Poison’s eyes flicked back and forth across the wall. Any minute now, and he would see it; the hole in that pristine white paint that led to their freedom. He was practically bouncing. 

“Chill out,” Ghoul laughed. “We’ll get there in time.”

“You don’t under _stand_ ,” said Poison, not taking his eyes off the wall. “You’ll see when we’re out there.”

“Is it really that amazing?”

Poison ignored him. He could almost feel the crunch of the sand beneath his boots; smell the open air of the desert, so different from the tang of pollution that the city air carried with it. It called out to him from somewhere deep within his bones. It had been so long since he’d seen the zones, the thought of returning made him ache. He needed it like breathing. Ghoul couldn’t understand now, but he would. He would. 

Poison’s eyes fell on a peeling patch of paint, a crack in the painted brick wall, and that was it. That was _it_ \- a hole wide enough for two or three people, through which he could see a patch of golden sand and the scrublands beyond that stretched far into the distance.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, his voice cracking a bit. 

Then he was bolting for the wall, ignoring Killer’s shout of protest. 

He ran like his life depended on it, his feet pounding hard against the pavement and his breath burning in his lungs, the last few inches of the city passing in a blur until he was crashing through the hole, _free_.

Poison stumbled a few feet into the dust of Zone One.

There were no words to describe the relief that poured through him. Years of city life had sucked the color from his world, but here, everything was different. The sky was bright blue, the sand golden in the sunlight, and as far as the eye could see, sparse patches of green and brown speckled the landscape. He sucked in a breath of fresh air, savoring the lack of chemicals as he let it out. There was nothing so synthetic out here. No medicine, no dead-eyed civilians, no restrictions.

He was finally home.

He heard the sound of hastened footsteps behind him, but just as he turned around, they slowed to a halt. Tyler was staring out into the distance, his eyes watery as he took in the vastness of the desert. Gabe came after him, then Pete, then finally Killer and Ghoul.

Ghoul, who was completely and utterly wonderstruck. 

He was different, just like Poison - their time in the city had changed them forever - but even without his old killjoy gear, even with his hair just a bit too short, he fit into the sands like the last piece of a perfect puzzle. 

His gaze drifted from the desert and finally settled on Poison. They looked eat each other for a long moment.

And with the tiniest shift of Ghoul’s expression, the smallest flicker of recognition, Poison knew.

Ghoul had barely stepped forward before Poison had thrown his arms around him, holding him tight as his nails dug into Poison’s back. Poison buried his face in Ghoul’s hair, not even caring when Ghoul squeezed him so hard he could barely breathe. He was shaking slightly, his small frame trembling even as Poison held him close. 

“Oh my God,” said Ghoul, his voice muffled. “Holy fuck, Poison - _Poison_.” His breath hitched. “I’m so sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry -”

“What the hell are you apologizing for?” Poison said fiercely. “You’re here now. _We’re_ here. We made it.”

“I was fucking _horrible_ ,” Ghoul said, his voice tight with emotion. “All the stuff I said, shit, you’ve gotta know it wasn’t true -”

“Don’t be stupid, of course it wasn’t. You think I’d stop loving you over a few insults? If that were true, we never would’ve gotten this far.” Poison pressed a kiss to the top of Ghoul’s head. 

Ghoul choked out a laugh. “Fuck you.” And just like that, he drew back, only to cup Poison’s face in both hands and lean up to kiss him. 

There were sparks, and fireworks, and the kick-drum of Poison’s heart beating out a joyful rhythm, but the most important thing was just _Ghoul_ , alive and perfect and whole once more. 

“Here’s an idea,” Ghoul murmured against Poison’s mouth. “Let’s never do that again.”

“Which part?” asked Poison, dazed. “The city, or the amnesia?”

“None of it. Fuck, none of it, you idiot.” He kissed Poison again, his lips soft and tasting slightly of smoke, just the way they always did. Some things never changed, Poison thought giddily. Even when the whole world turned upside down, they always came back to this. 

He pulled back traced his thumb over Ghoul’s cheekbone, taking a minute to just drink in the sight of his face. Ghoul’s cheeks were flushed, his lips red, and Poison didn’t know what it was, but something about him finally seemed complete. There was an understanding behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before. 

“I missed you, Ghoul,” Poison whispered. 

“I’m here now,” said Ghoul, his lips curving into a smile. “You gonna take advantage of that?”

“Yeah,” Poison said with a grin, threading his fingers into Ghoul’s hair. “I think I will.”

They weren’t alone; he knew that. They couldn’t be as clingy or emotional as he wanted to be, but they would have time. Somewhere, in the desert or within the compound, they would have time for each other, to put all their overflowing thoughts to words.

Until then, this would do.

The war was far from over, but as Poison held Ghoul close, he knew his most important battle had been won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> epilogue coming soon! (if something wasn't covered much in this chapter, just sit tight, it'll probably get attention in the epilogue). thank you all so much for reading <3


	11. Let's Find Another Ride Home (Epilogue)

Poison didn’t notice the first knock on the door. He was deep in his work, trying to stitch the sleeve of his jacket back together where it had been ripped during a recent firefight. It wasn’t perfect - he hadn’t been able to find any dark thread, so he was forced to work with bright green, and it stuck out against the blue fabric - but it would service him well enough until he could find something better. In the background, Dr. Death Defying’s radio station was turned up to full volume.

_”In other news, we’ve gotten a new transmission from our favorite bin rat, Brobeck. It seems that the latest rescue mission, headed by Lazarus and True Believer, has been a success. I’d say that’s enough cause for celebration. The killjoys are on the up and up! Soon enough, we’ll have all our old runners back, thanks to those fightin’ souls beyond the city walls.”_

Poison smiled to himself. It had been a long time since he’d visited the city; years, even. After they’d busted Ryan and the other patients out of the Third Eye, Killer had broken the news that he was leaving the city. He and Ryan went out to the desert, and Poison and Ghoul had followed not long after. Almost all the killjoys had returned to the desert and reunited with their crews - Gabe, Tyler, even Bob. Some, like Tyler, had decided to go back to the city and keep working to liberate the imprisoned killjoys. It was important work, but Poison didn’t join them. He had never imagined staying in the city forever. It just wasn’t the life he was meant for. 

_”And that’s all our news for today, folks. I’ll be hittin’ the red line in just a moment, so I’ll trust you all to keep the party going after I’m gone. With any luck, we’ll speak again soon. Just keep yourself alive ‘til then. Stay strong. Stay alert. Under our golden sun, there’s nowhere you can hide - so you’d best keep running as fast as your little legs can carry you. This is Dr. Death Defying, signing off.”_

The radio emitted a loud burst of static, then went silent.

In the sudden quiet, Poison finally recognized the rhythmic pounding at his door.

He reached for his gun on instinct. There were only a few people that would come knocking at the diner, and he wasn’t expecting any of them. 

Ghoul poked his head in from the other room. His hair was tucked behind his ears like it always was when he was working on bombs - if it wasn’t, it just fell in his face, and then he complained that he couldn’t see anything. He wiped a bit of soot from his forehead and squinted at the door. “You gonna get that?”

“Yeah,” said Poison. He cautiously approached the door, his gun held at his side. “Who’s there?” he asked, loudly enough for his voice to carry to the other side. 

“Poison!” said a familiar voice. “Let me in, asshole, it’s hot out here!”

Poison opened the door without a second thought. 

Sandman tumbled inside. His hair was blond now, shorter than Poison remembered it being, and soaked with sweat. It really _was_ fucking hot outside. “You have no idea,” he panted, “How good it feels to be out of the sun. Fuck. Really makes you wonder why we love the desert so much.” He held his hand to his chest as he caught his breath, then finally looked at Poison and smiled. “Hey. It’s been a while, huh?”

Poison nodded. “What brings you back out here?”

Sandman hopped onto one of the diner’s tables. “Takin’ Blurryface and Message Man out for a visit. They’re damn good medics, but they can’t spend _all_ their time in the city. They have to come back every once in a while. Let’s just hope nobody gets stabbed while they’re gone.” Ghoul snorted from the other side of the room.

Poison leaned back against the wall. “How are things in the faction, then? Brobeck’s keeping everybody in check?”

Sandman nodded. “He’s a good leader. Brendon couldn’t have picked better.”

“And the rehab centers?” Ghoul asked. “Dr. D said you guys broke down another one.”

Sandman nodded again. “Yeah, we did. It was rough, though. The security just keeps getting tighter. And I think the drugs might be getting stronger, too, but there’s no way to tell until the test results come in.”

“What about Donnie and Horseshoe?” Poison asked quietly. “Any news?”

He was expecting Sandman to look away, to adopt that wistful look he always got when they discussed the search for his old crewmates, but instead, he grinned from ear to ear. Poison’s eyes widened. “Wait, did you -”

“We got a lead!” Sandman said, thrilled. “We don’t know if it’ll lead to anything, obviously, but Benz thinks it’s promising!”

“Oh my _God_!” Poison said loudly. “That’s fucking awesome!” 

“What are you doing here?” Ghoul demanded. “You should be out looking for them, shouldn’t you?”

“Not yet,” said Sandman, still grinning. “I wanted to… Well, you know.” He ducked his head, suddenly shy. “I mean, it’s been a while for you guys, but you’re still involved, right? I thought maybe you’d want to…”

“To help?” Poison finished. Sandman nodded. 

Poison looked to Ghoul.

Sandman’s smile faded. “It’s totally cool if you don’t want to, though,” he said. “I respect that. I know Brendon said he was never going back to the city, but I didn’t know about you guys, so I thought it’d be worth a shot. It’s fine if you don’t want to come.”

Ghoul raised an eyebrow. “Are you stupid?”

“Pete,” Poison said patiently. “Of course we’re coming. It’s your _crew_. Besides, I haven’t seen Benzedrine in ages, or any of the juvies. We need to catch up.”

Sandman beamed. “Sweet! How fast can you get packed up?”

Poison looked to Ghoul once more. “I don’t have anything to carry,” he said. “What about you?”

“Dunno. Are we gonna need bombs?”

“Let’s go with yes,” said Sandman. 

“Okay, give me just a minute, then.” Ghoul disappeared into the next room. When he came back, he was carrying a small tool kit and a box that Poison knew contained some pretty high-powered explosives. That box always made him nervous. It was a huge fucking fire hazard, but it _was_ convenient. If necessary, simply throwing it at an enemy would probably blow them to smithereens. It was perfectly safe as long as nobody did anything stupid like strike a match against it. 

At the sight of it, Sandman rubbed his hands together and giggled. “Oh, we are gonna have _fun_ on our next raid.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Ghoul asked with a smile. “Let’s go.”

Poison took his hand as he passed by, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. Ghoul rolled his eyes, but Poison could see him blushing ever so slightly. Sandman wiggled his eyebrows at them. 

“Can we go now?” Ghoul grumbled. 

“Yeah,” said Poison. “Are you ready?”

“Mm-hmm. You?”

“Definitely.”

And so Poison turned to Sandman with a smile that spoke of revolution.

“Let’s get to Battery City,” he said. “We’ve got lives to save.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so we come to a close.
> 
> this fic was a wild fuckin ride, guys. it was originally supposed to be 3 chapters, 30k tops. now it's the longest fic i've ever written and i regret nothing. this universe is gonna stick with me for a while............................WHICH MEANS Y'ALL GET BONUS CONTENT!!!!!!!! 
> 
> [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_-NdD02ztbw) is a video i made to go along with the fic.
> 
> and that's not all! there will be more content coming soon. considering how much effort i've put into this story already, i don't have the energy to write another full-length fic, but i've got a not!fic that tells killer's story in the works. also, hannah asked for joshler reunion, so you'll get that too. maybe some other ficlets as well. who knows!
> 
> and that brings us to the thank-yous! thank you [HANNAH](http://archiveofourown.org/users/personalized_radio/pseuds/personalized_radio) for inspiring this fic, being so kind 2 me about it, and getting me to finally finish it. (firefight is still better fuck u)
> 
> here is [firefight](http://archiveofourown.org/series/165905), aka the work that inspired this one. if you haven't read it, please go and love yourself. 
> 
> thank you [LOUISE](http://archiveofourown.org/users/demolicious_lover/pseuds/demolicious_lover) for being such a sweetheart. i love u & would die for u. if u have any ficlet requests for this universe hmu and i'll make it happen <3
> 
> and thank you to everyone who took the time to read/leave kudos/comment on this fic!! you have no idea how much it means to me. (especially those of you who comment - y'all make my life worth living.)
> 
> got any questions? ask in the comments and ye shall receive! you can voice descend-related requests too, although i can't guarantee i'll write them. for now, though, i think that's all! in these coming weeks i'll try to put out a new ficlet, but i'll also be working on some other projects which i'm very excited about. stay tuned for a bbb fic (now complete!) which will be posted in september, and a couple other fun frerard AUs. 
> 
> and, as always, thank you so much for reading. <3


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